Always Yours
by HarleyMarie
Summary: Three men, three lovers back home, one war. WWII will change the lives of Francis, Ludwig, and Alfred as they try to make it home to the ones they love. Filled with triumphs, tragedy, heartbreak, healing, love, and loss, nothing will ever be the same for them. Human AU. CURRENTLY ON HIATUS
1. Alfred: June 1944

Alfred F. Jones stood under the glittering lights of the Chase county fair with his best friend, James Smith. The heat of the day was slowly ebbing away with each passing minute, and it was looking to be a cool evening. Perfect for their last night in the States together.

"So what do you think it'll be like?" James asked absentmindedly. "Europe… The war… Killing Nazis…" He kicked up a plume of dust with the toe of his dress shoes. "I mean, they don't tell us what to expect, just what we're supposed to do, you know?"

Alfred took a long drag on the cigarette he'd been smoking for the last few minutes and didn't say anything for a moment. "I don't know," he sighed as he flicked the ash away with a tap of his finger. "I guess it's just gonna be what we make of it. I mean, I don't want to kill anyone any more than the next guy. But that's just war I guess. There's good guys and bad guys." He eyed what's left of his cigarette before tossing it away. "What about you?"

"Same." James suddenly became quiet, deep in thought.

"I know what you're thinking," Alfred muttered.

"No, you don't." James spat. He hastily pulled out a cigarette from his pack and stuck it between his teeth. "You got a light?" Alfred fished into his pocket and tossed him his matchbook. He caught it without glancing up. "The thing is," he said as he struck the match, the orange flame illuminating his face in the dark, "you're never really sure who the good guys are, and who the bad guys are." He lit his cigarette and shook the match until the flame died. Smoke clouded his face, and in that moment Alfred could have sworn that James looked a hundred years old. "Here." James held out the matchbook for Alfred to take. Alfred didn't say anything for a second, then replied with a curt, "Keep it. I have another." James stood there with his arm extended and refused to move. The two locked eyes, and the air was suddenly cold between them. Alfred had never seen James like this, and he had never been more scared for him in his whole life.

The two nineteen-year-olds remained silent until James pocketed the matchbook and spoke up cheerily, "Okay, this is no way to be spending our last night home. Let's have some fun!" "What exactly do you have in mind?" Alfred asked, a hint of playful suspicion in his voice. Now, it was as if nothing strange had happened at all. The real James was back.

"Well… We didn't wear these uniforms for nothing, now did we?" James gestured to his uniform, all the way from his cover to his shoes. Alfred raised his eyebrows playfully. "So you're suggesting that we find a girl?" "Why not? We need someone to write home to, might as well be a pretty someone at that!" James punched Alfred in the arm and started toward the ferris wheel, where a group of squealing girls were waiting to get on. After a few steps, James looked back to see Alfred still standing where he was. "Come on, Marine! Let's go!"

Alfred barely heard him. He was too distracted by what he thought was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. He had happened to glance to his left when he saw her. She was standing in the cotton candy line in a cherry red dress, her brunette hair cascading down her back in a waterfall of curls, and he was surprised that she stood alone. "I'll catch up with you later," Alfred yelled in James' direction. James looked toward where Alfred was looking, smiled, and gave a big thumbs up before turning back to the group of girls he was heading toward. "Meet you later!" James yelled behind him.

Alfred started toward the cotton candy stand and the girl, but stopped and fixed his hair, cover, blouse, glasses, even dusted off his shoes before resuming his walk, all with his heart pounding fast in his chest. As he pulled up alongside her, he didn't say anything for a moment. His mouth was dry from nerves, and he just knew that if he opened up his mouth, he'd make a fool of himself. As he thought of what to say, the girl turned to face him. She looked him over from head to toe and asked brightly,

"Soldier, huh?"

She took Alfred completely off guard, and it took a few seconds for him to respond.

"No, no ma'am."

"No?"

"Marine, ma'am."

She smiled and replied, "I know, I was just playing. My brother is a Marine."

"Semper fi, ma'am."

"And my name's not 'ma'am' Marine, it's Sara Jane. Sarah Jane Elliot."

"Private Alfred F. Jones, ma-sorry, Sarah." "I always did like Sarah Jane better."

"Then Sarah Jane it is. Pleased to meet you."

"And you."

Sarah Jane smiled, then pointed at the line of people in front of them. "This is one heck of a line," she said, "and I've never really been a cotton candy kind of girl. Wanna go walk somewhere?"

Alfred almost asked her why she was in the line in the first place, but he just nodded his head. "Sure. Any ideas where?" "Not really," Sarah Jane replied, "just around. You still in?" "Yeah, if you are." "Then come on!" Sarah Jane grabbed onto Alfred's arm and started to pull him down the rows of food carts and game booths, weaving in between bodies as gracefully as a dancer. Alfred laughed behind her, and he could feel deep down inside that this was going to be a night to remember.

He made up his mind that if he had to write to someone, or hopefully come home to someone, he hoped that it would be her. With that thought, he gripped Sarah Jane's hand just a little bit tighter, and she did the same.

The night passed all too quickly, and Alfred couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so much. Whether he was laughing at himself, at Sarah Jane's crazy exploits, or just for the sake of laughing, he didn't care. He was just happy to be spending this last night with this beautiful, funny, smart, amazing girl called Sarah Jane Elliot. He learned that she was deathly afraid of heights when they made it to the top of the ferris wheel after she had both of her arms around him in a death grip until they stepped off, both doubled over laughing. He also found out she had a killer throwing arm when she tried to knock down a pyramid of milk bottles with a baseball and ended up breaking three of them. Once she heard the glass break, she yanked Alfred away by the hand and they ran off to behind a row of tents, dodging people with every step, where they ducked in one particularly colorful tent under a flap to find themselves in a room full of mirrors, where Sarah Jane collapsed into Alfred's arms in a heap of giggles. He was laughing too, and he didn't realize he was holding Sarah Jane until they had both stopped giggling and the air was already still and thick with their breathing. The sounds all around seemed to slowly die until it was just the pounding of their two hearts in the dark. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. Sarah Jane searched Alfred's eyes, then whispered something that he could barely hear.

"Do you want to dance?"

Alfred frowned. "I'm pretty bad at it. I'd hate to step on your toes."

"I'm sure you're fine." Sarah Jane raised an eyebrow, and she looked almost concerned. "I almost forgot. There's no music."

Alfred smiled and whispered in Sarah Jane's ear, "I can fix that."

Sarah Jane let out a breathy, almost half laugh before letting Alfred take her hand and her waist, and she lightly touched her cheek to his. Alfred closed his eyes and began to hum the first song that came into his mind.

After a moment, Sarah Jane whispered, "I know this song… It's Vera Lynn, right? 'I'll Be Seeing You Again'?"

Alfred smiled, and started to sing softly into her ear. Her hair tickled his lips with each word, and as he swayed slowly in the dark, he realized that he had discovered something beautiful.

"I'll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places… that my heart and mind embraces all day through…"

"Alfred," Sarah Jane whispered, "Do you have someone to write home to?"

Alfred stopped singing and stood still. "I'll be honest with you." Sarah Jane faced him so that she could look at him in the eyes. "No, I don't have anyone to write home to." Sarah Jane frowned. "Not… Not another… You know…" "No, not another girl," Alfred said quietly. Sarah Jane just looked at him, and he continued with a laugh. "I've never really had too much luck with girls."

She smiled. "I have a hard time believing that." Alfred laughed again. "You'd better start believing, it's true."

Sarah Jane stood up on her tip toes and draped her arms around Alfred's shoulders. "Write me." "Alright, I will…" "No. Write me. Write me every day, every time you stop marching, every time you're lonely, every time you just want to connect with something familiar, write me. Promise?" She pulled a handkerchief and a pen from the bag that she was carrying. Using his chest to write on, she wrote her home address on the handkerchief, folded it up, and slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. "Do you promise?"

Alfred gently took Sarah Jane's face in his hands and drew it close to his. He bent down so that his lips were a fraction of an inch from hers before he whispered, "I promise."

At first, the kiss was gentle, tentative, slow, until it built in passion and desire. Each was feeding from the other, running fingers through hair and over skin.

Sarah Jane pulled away an inch. "Alfred, promise me that you'll come home. I know it hasn't been long but-"

Alfred put a finger over her lips and brushed some stray hair away from her face before answering.

"I promise you that I will come home to you."

"You'd better."

The air was still for a moment. Neither one of them moved. Alfred was the one to break the silence.

"Are you sure about this?"

She paused and looked away, biting her lip. After a couple of seconds, she looked back into Alfred's eyes. She was smiling.

"My car."

Alfred stood on the train platform the next morning at five minutes until eight, his seabags at his feet and his cover in his hand. He expected to see James, since he wasn't supposed to ship out until next week, but he had yet to meet him.

Alfred checked the clock on the wall behind him. Still a few minutes until he had to leave. He sighed, and stuck his free hand into his pocket, and grinned when his fingers brushed up against Sarah Jane's handkerchief. He pulled it out and smiled at the flowing strokes, the little heart drawn at the bottom, her name. Proof that last night happened. He already had the address memorized, along with the note on the bottom. 'You promised' was all that it said.

A sharp whistle drew Alfred out of his daze, and he glanced at the clock again. Three minutes early, he thought. He carefully folded the handkerchief and slipped it back into his pocket. Placing his cover on his head, he grabbed his seabags and, instead of heading for the train car, he headed for the nearest mailbox. Alfred dropped a letter inside before turning back toward the train.

Sarah Jane checked her mail two days later to find a letter from Alfred. The address and letter inside was written in pencil, the letter itself on notebook paper.

_Dear Sarah Jane, _

_I have to write this quickly, since I have to be at the train station in about half an hour. I just wanted to let you know that I'll be heading to Europe now. They haven't really told me where I'll be, and you'll understand that I can't tell you in case a letter gets intercepted. I'll write you once I get a bit of a permanent station. _

_But enough of that. I'll try to write as much as I can, when I can. _

_Thank you for last night. I've never had so much fun in my life. You've given me something to think about when I'll be alone, so then I won't really be alone at all. _

_I remember my promise. _

_Always yours, _

_Corporal Alfred F. Jones_


	2. Ludwig: 9-10 June, 1944

SS-Sturmanbannführer Ludwig Beilschmidt of the Waffen-SS straightened the collar of his uniform jacket as he jogged quickly down the steps of the hotel where he was staying. Passing a mirror at the bottom of the staircase, he stopped to glance at his reflection and adjust his cap. The glint of the silver totenkopf just above the bill of the cap, for some reason, made Ludwig pause. He stared at the thing, then slowly, his eyes panned down to his collar, his ranks, his jacket. Then at himself as a whole. Something was wrong. He just couldn't put his finger on what exactly that was though.

The question was why. After all, despite being drafted into the SS by force, Ludwig had everything going for him. He was climbing the ranks hand-over-fist. He was thought well of by both his superiors and his men. He had a beautiful fianceé back home in Berlin. So the question remained. What was off?

Before he could properly contemplate the answer, someone from behind him called out his name.

"Ludwig!"

Ludwig turned around to find himself face-to-face with a man with platinum blond hair that shimmered in the light, striking pink-tinted eyes that were the distinct mark of an albino, and an electric smile that was currently spread from one ear to the other.

It was his elder brother, Gilbert.

Ludwig smiled widely, something he hadn't done in what felt like forever.

"Bruder," he laughed as he moved to embrace his brother. Gilbert beat him to it, his arms wrapping around Ludwig's torso so tightly, Ludwig thought his chest was locked in a vice.

But he didn't care.

He threw his arms around Gilbert in return, his fingers grasping at Gilbert's jacket, hair, anything.

"How long has it been?" Ludwig asked. He pressed his cheek against GIlbert's ear and closed his eyes tightly, attempting to hold back the tears that were welling up in his eyes.

"Much too long," Gilbert replied. His voice broke ever so slightly on the work long.

"Understatement of the century," Ludwig laughed.

It truly was.

Over a year had passed since the two brothers had seen the other last. Their different SS infantry units had separated them, and any communication between the two quickly became impossible.

So they waited. And prayed.

That was all they could do.

They just prayed that they would see each other again, and not with the other in a pine box.

Now their prayers had been answered, and at this point, neither of the brothers could contain their tears of joy and relief. Frankly, neither of them wanted to.

Gilbert and Ludwig remained in the embrace for a few more moments before slowly drawing back so they could see the other's face.

"How've you been holding up?" Ludwig asked, his grin wide.

"Not half bad, actually," Gilbert replied, his grin even wider. "It's been rough, though. Lost good men." His grin faded quickly, as did Ludwig's.

"Haven't we all?" Ludwig remarked. "How many?"

"Since last month alone, thirty-seven."  
"Forty-three."

Gilbert nodded solemnly. He glanced at the ground quickly, then cleared his throat before meeting Ludwig's eyes again.

"The price of war, huh?"

Ludwig's eyes softened, and his lips spread into a sad smile. "Come on, GIlbert," he clapped his brother on the back. "Let your little bruder buy you a drink."

Gilbert grasped Ludwig around the shoulders and pulled him toward the door of the hotel.

"You can't get it in my hand fast enough."

Two beers and four shots of whiskey for each of them later, the two brothers sat at the bar together, talking about everything that had happened in the past year. The clock behind the bartender read one o'clock in the morning.

Ludwig nudged Gilvert in the arm and pointed to the clock. "I've got a meeting in the morning. How about one more round and we'll call it a night?"

"I'm not nearly drunk enough, but alright," Gilbert sighed. He signaled the bartender to fill their shot glasses once more. Once he did so, Gilbert raised his glass. Ludwig followed suit.

Gilbert toasted, his voice wavering slightly. "To our fallen brothers."  
"To our fallen brothers."

They tossed the whiskey back and slammed the glasses down in unison.

"Alright, let's get our of here," Gilbert muttered as he pushed his stool back.

"Right behind you, buddy," Ludwig replied.

The two got up, grabbed their caps, and left the bar.

Gilbert made sure to slam the door behind him.

When Ludwig awoke the next morning, the sun had just started to creep over the horizon and into the hotel room through the open window. Ludwig groaned and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He sat up and smiled when he glanced over to his right to see Gilbert still asleep on the couch, mouth open, hair in a mess, his uniform in a heap on the floor. Ludwig could just barely hear Gilbert's snore.

He flopped back down on the pillows with a sigh.

His brother was alive and asleep on the couch in his hotel room only ten feet away. They went drinking last night.

His brother was alive.

Ludwig closed his eyes and smiled softly.

With his brother home, he was whole again.

Yes, life was good.

Ludwig's alarm went off ten minutes later, the shrill beeping waking him up with a start. He hadn't even realized that he'd fallen back to sleep.

He slammed his fist onto the alarm clock on the bedside table, but missed the snooze button. With a muttered curse, he hit it again, significantly harder this time, and the beeping subsided.

Ludwig sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced to the couch and snickered. Gilbert was still asleep, and dead to the world.

Perfect.

Sliding his legs out from under the bed sheets, Ludwig got to his bare feet and began to tiptoe across the carpeted floor toward the sleeping Gilbert. He picked up a spare pillow as he passed the foot of the bed.

Standing over Gilbert and barely able to contain his giggles, Ludwig raised the pillow high above his head.

"Rise and shine, bruder!" Ludwig yelled as he brought the pillow down as hard as he could on Gilbert's face.

Gilbert then proceeded to scream, as Ludwig would put it, 'just like a little girl'.

"You dummkopf!" Gilbert roared, before he jumped off of the couch and tackled Ludwig to the ground, where he then proceeded to beat him nearly senseless with the pillow. By now, Ludwig was in stitches and crying tears of laughter.

After a few moments, Gilbert stopped and fell backwards onto the floor next to Ludwig.

"You know, I would have figured that you would have grown up by now," Gilbert laughed.

Ludwig scoffed. "Like you haven't either?"

GIlbert threw his hands up in mock surrender. "You did have to learn it from somewhere, didn't you?" He pushed himself up to his feet and walked over to where his SS uniform lay on the floor, ruffling Ludwig's hair as he passed.

While Gilbert was pulling his trousers on, Ludwig sat up and turned to face him.

"Hey," he said, a note of seriousness in his voice.

Gilbert looked over his shoulder at him.

"It's good to have you back."

Gilbert smiled and zipped up his trousers. "It's good to be back, little bruder. It is very good to be back."

Ludwig fiddled with the bridge of his reading glasses as he sat in the meeting later on that morning. Gilbert had already recounted for their superiors the most recent positions of his men and the enemy, along with what his men needed. It was the usual. Food, ammunition, medical supplies. It's what everyone asked for, every time, without fail. His superiors were becoming increasingly hard pressed to deliver, however. Supplies were running low, as was morale. Men were frustrated about being unable to travel to Normandy in a 'timely manner', due to railway lines being sabotaged and constant fighting against the French Resistance, giving them no rest. Ludwig knew that a few men in particular were even beginning to question whether the war was even worth fighting anymore, but he would never mention this. He too was beginning to question the validity of this fight, but only in his own private thoughts.

A knock sounded on the door at one end of the conference room. Ludwig didn't look up. It was common for messengers to interrupt meetings, but it was usually nothing that concerned him.

"Come in," the officer conducting the meeting, Adolf Diekmann, barked.

A messenger walked in quickly. In his hand was a yellow telegraph paper. His face was ashen. "This just came in, sir." He handed the telegraph to Diekmann, then left. His hand was shaking.

Diekmann watched the messenger leave, then opened the telegraph and read it to himself, his eyes urgently skimming the words. By the bottom of the page, his face had become beet red with fury. He balled the telegraph up in his fist and clenched his jaw. The crinkling of the paper sounded as loud as a gunshot in the silent conference room.

By now, Ludwig was paying attention. He set his glasses down on the table in front of him and sat up a touch straighter in his chair. All eyes were on Deikmann.

After a moment, Deikmann began to speak. His voice shook with rage.

"Kämpfe has been captured and executed by French Resistance." That was all he said.

Ludwig could feel the blood drain from his face. Helmut Kämpfe, commander of the III. Battalion, 4th SS Panzer Grenadier Regiment Der Führer, 2nd SS Panzer Division Das Reich, dead. He couldn't believe it.

And judging from the looks on everyone else's faces, neither could they. Eyebrows were furrowed, mouths were agape, teeth were clenched. From out of the corner of his eye, Ludwig could see Gilbert put his head in his hands.

"That's it," Diekmann shouted as he pushed his chair back from the table violently and lurched to his feet. "This is the last straw! I am sick of dealing with these French dogs!" He pounded his fist on the table after every word. "All of you, listen to me! Gather your men. We are going to repay them for this. Today!"

Deikmann stormed out of the room, all the while shouting orders and obscenities. When the door slammed shut, no one moved for a full five seconds.

Gilbert was the first to stand. When he spoke, his voice was sad. "Well, you heard him. Gather everyone together and be ready for God-knows-what."

Everyone else stood and filed out of the conference room in silence until it was only Ludwig and Gilbert remaining.

Gilbert hung his head and whispered, "God forgive us for what is about to happen, whatever it is."

Ludwig said nothing as he slowly got to his feet and left the room. Orders were orders. He had to go gather his men.


	3. Francis: 9-10 June, 1944

Francis Bonnefoy knew that he was never truly much for ground combat.

His battlefield was the air above.

All of the open space of the skies gave him the freedom that he so craved, and also an escape from the carnage and constant bloodshed below.

But deep down at the heart of it, the real reason Francis fought from the air was so that he didn't have to see the light leave his enemy's eyes as they died. This was the real reason Francis had chosen to put his pilot skills to use for the Resistance.

He had been working with them in various capacities since the beginning, whether it was intelligence gathering or smuggling British troops across the border. He decided that there was nothing that he was unwilling or unable to do to aid the cause to free his people from German oppression, including putting his own life on the line. This he did frequently, much to the chagrin of his younger sister, Estelle.

Estelle, who was three years Francis' junior, would never let on that she fully supported her brother's dangerous work, because she did, but she protested the constant placement of himself in jeopardy. However, anyone who knew her at all would say that she was just as patriotic as any other Frenchman. She even protested the German occupation in her own little ways, most notably when she passed a German officer eating at a café and 'accidentally' spilled her glass of red wine all over the front of his freshly pressed uniform. Also, she took the napkin and made sure to rub the stain in, not out.

Secretly, she had always been particularly proud of that moment, more so than anything else she had done to resist. She wasn't entirely sure why, but she eventually settled with the fact that thinking about that incident gave her a glimmer of hope that even regular people like her could fight back in some shape, fashion, or form.

Hope was what kept her going through the long years of the occupation, and that hope spread easily to Francis.

But right now, hundreds of feet above the ground, with his plane's engine roaring in his ears and the cracks of gunfire in the night all around him, that hope was slipping away, and fast. He had lost the element of surprise, and he was running out of odds that said that he was going to get out of here alive.

It was supposed to be just a reconnaissance mission to get the lay of the land before sundown… But ever since the sun disappeared beneath the horizon as he had turned toward home, everything had started to go wrong…

A bullet crashed through the glass windshield, narrowly missing his head. He managed to duck just in time, but it was freak luck. Francis' hands were shaking now, and sweat began to prickle at the back of his neck and on his forehead. A massive crash on his left and a jolt to match rocked his small plane, nearly sending Francis spinning to the ground below. A swift glance over his shoulder confirmed his fear. The rudder on the left wing was mostly gone now, but there was enough left so that he would still be able to steer… At least that's what he hoped.

Francis leaned over and snatched his map from where it was pinned up on his right. His eyes skimmed over it as best they could in the moonlight before he balled the map up and threw it angrily against the console, cursing loudly.

He had so far to go until he was in safe air. He was running low on fuel and faith, and he honestly doubted whether his little plane would make it. With this rudder shot, he was practically a sitting duck. _Might as well hold up a sign that says "Hey! Shoot me!" _he thought to himself.

Another bullet tore through his plane, this time up from the floor of the cockpit by his feet. He jerked to the side, again narrowly missing the bullet.

Sweat dripped from Francis' brow and ran down his temple, tickling his skin. The distance on the map wormed its way back to the forefront of his mind, along with the growing certainty of just how deep in trouble he had become. Another bullet dinged against the cockpit, and Francis' left arm flew up instinctively in a feeble attempt to shield his head. His breathing became more ragged and shallow with each passing second, because he realized that every passing second brought him closer to the ground, and therefore his own demise.

And he would be truly alone.

There was one thing in the world that Francis feared more than anything, and that was becoming infinitely and irreversibly alone. So, to prevent this from happening, Francis surrounded himself with anyone and everyone he could. He was never known to ever be single for long. In his mind, as long as a crowd of people was near, he could never possibly be alone.

Oh, but how truly alone he was.

Outside of his sister, no one cared enough to actually know him. All of the girls loved to be seen on the arm of Francis Bonnefoy, and to say that they spent the night in his arms, but they never cared to look past the face that they called beautiful and see the lonely man who was buried underneath.

A red light began to blink just to the right of a set of fuel gauges.

Francis began to pale.

The fuel tank was leaking.

He cursed bitterly and slammed his fist into the console. "_Pièce inutile de merde_!" he shouted at his plane, which droned on loudly into the dark, unconcerned by his outburst.

He was starting to realize the very real possibility that he very well could die tonight. That this could be it, and he was afraid. But the thought of crashing his plane and surviving entered his mind. And at that, he was terrified. If he survived the crash, the Germans would surely find him and take him prisoner to be tortured for any information that he had. And he had quite a bit. But he would never talk, how could he? He'd be betraying his own people. But the thought of that even happening… And the possibility of…

Francis' eyes drifted down to his right, just between the side of the cockpit and his seat. In that little space was a pistol. One shot. It was only for use in the worst case scenario: If he were to crash behind enemy lines and the enemy proved to be too overwhelming to escape… Well, he preferred that to being subject to the enemy's interrogation in an attempt to extract anything they could from him. He wouldn't want to say anything, but he knew he couldn't hold out for forever. Every man has his breaking point. However, he wanted to make sure the enemy never got a chance to make it that far with him. Some might deem his plan the coward's way out, but he couldn't think of a more courageous and noble thing to do if faced with the choice. Ending it before it even had the chance to start was safer than risking all the things you know-along with the lives that are tied to it.

Francis' eyes lingered on the place where his hope lay if worst came to worst before he jerked his eyes back up to the night sky, adrenaline suddenly flooding his veins anew.

He wasn't about to let these German pigs shoot him down.

He was going to get himself home.

There was no way he was going to let them win.

Not now.

Not ever.

The next two hours were a blur. If you had asked, Francis wouldn't be able to tell you a thing about what had happened outside of "I flew my plane and tried not to die". He honestly couldn't remember. One thing stood out to him though, and that was the moment he saw the lights of the tiny little airfield that the Resistance had managed to hold on to.

When he saw those twinkling little lights, Francis couldn't contain his relief. He wept as his landing gear scraped against the runway, squealing and sending pieces of gravel flying in every direction in his wake.

After taxiing his plane under a hangar and killing the engine, he slumped over the wheel and took a moment to breathe. It was all over. He was finally back on the ground, safe.

After drawing a couple of shaky breaths, Francis sat up once again and checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. He sighed deeply and ran his still-trembling fingers through his sweaty hair before pulling it back and clamboring out of the cockpit. His face lit up with a huge smile when he heard the thud of his boots against the concrete.

_To be on the ground again, _Francis thought to himself, _is a wonderful thing indeed. _

Francis didn't live terribly far from the airfield. The house that he and Estelle shared was only about three miles from it. Due to the secretive nature of the airfield however, any rebel who wanted to get there usually had to walk from the next town over, then through fields and woods, before they reached the tiny airfield. Francis was one of the lucky ones who didn't have to walk for more than an hour to reach it. Also, there were hardly any German soldiers who were stationed permanently in his town, so it was easy for him to slip out unnoticed.

He had never been caught or associated with the Resistance, and that was something he was truly grateful for. Most anyone who was tied to the rebels was shot, minus a lucky few. He was safe, at least for now.

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning by the time he reached the front steps of he and Estelle's small house. The moon was shrouded in thick clouds, and the shadows reached their long, black fingers into every dark corner. Francis dropped his bag filled with his things on the steps heavily and turned the knob, and he frowned upon finding the door locked. Estelle always left the door unlocked until he got home at night, and she usually would be found sitting in their small living room on the sofa, reading a book in the lamplight, waiting for him to come home.

This locked door was strange indeed.

His interest piqued, Francis picked up his bag again, and with it slung over one shoulder, walked briskly around the side of the house to the back steps. A strip of yellow light bathed the three stone steps that led up to the back door. That light streamed out from the door, which was open about three inches. The door jam was broken to only splinters, and the deadbolt was down.

Estelle had locked the door, and someone subsequently had kicked it in.

Francis' heart sank like a stone.

"ESTELLE!" Francis screamed at the top of his lungs. His bag, which he had dropped to the ground the second he had seen the light on the steps, was long forgotten, as was everything that had happened over the past few hours. Nothing else in the world mattered more than getting inside that house.

He leapt up the steps in one jump and flung the door open. In his panic, he very nearly took the door off its hinges.

The next three seconds were the longest and most horrifying three seconds in all of Francis' life, and he would never forget what it was that he saw. Every detail was instantly seared into his mind's eye, and never would he close his eyes without reliving this night.

The kitchen was the first thing to strike him. It was completely torn apart. Cabinets hung open, the table was overturned, broken plate shards littered the floor. A drawer where Francis kept a pistol hidden was pulled open, and it was missing from its normal resting place.

All of this, Francis took in during the first second. At the start of the second, his eyes drifted up from the scene in the kitchen and beheld the living room.

It too was completely destroyed. The lamp was broken on the floor, and end table was turned on its side, newly missing one of its legs. The sofa where Estelle spent her evenings was disheveled, its pillows and cushions ripped and vomiting white feathers into the air. Smears of blood on the cream wall by the window and on the carpet were obvious to anyone who could see, and they screamed panic in Francis' mind.

The second of the three seconds had passed. The third would mark the beginning of the rest of Francis' life as he would know it.

He now saw Estelle.

Her body was in a twisted heap in the corner. From where he stood across the house, he could make out the blood and bruises on her face and arms. Despite the shadows, he could see her eyes. They were open. He could also see her clothes. They were ripped to the point that they were in tatters.

But what ripped his heart straight out of his chest was the fact that they were lying, scattered, on the other side of the living room.

Francis screamed. No, it wasn't even that. Scream is too human a word. The sound that came out of Francis' mouth wasn't human at all, but it was the wail of an animal who is dying. His feet began to move. He couldn't see where he was going though through his tears, but after a moment of stumbling and crashing into walls and cabinets, he came upon Estelle.

His knees fell out from underneath him, and he hit the living room floor. His arms grasped desperately at his sister, pulling her body close to his. "Mon petit moineau," he wept into her hair as he stroked it with a shaking hand, "Tell me, what happened to you?"

The very last thing he expected was for her to reply.

"There were five."

The sudden and startling way she said it, so matter-of-factly, it sounded as if she were commenting about the weather. The mere fact that she spoke-that she was alive-nearly made Francis drop her out of surprise.

"Estelle! Mon Dieu, you're alive!" Fresh tears of relief and joy cascaded down his cheeks. "Sister, I'm so sorry, forgive me…" Francis could no longer speak. He only wept.

Estelle, on the other hand, did not reply. Nor did she react in any way to her brother.

Francis very quickly reached to his right and grabbed a blanket that had fallen onto the floor. With it, he wrapped Estelle up and picked her up in his arms. "I'm taking you somewhere for you to get help," he whispered to her as he carried her out the door and into the night.

He would take her to see Adelina. She'd know what to do.

As Francis raced to the hospital, he had failed to notice the glint of something metal by one of the wooden feet of the sofa. The metallic glint of… could it be… A silver Death's Head.


	4. Ludwig: Oradour-sur-Glane, 10 June, 1944

**DISCLAIMER: This is an actual event in history. All of what transpires in the following chapter is historically accurate, and therefore I am warning the reader that this chapter is graphic and disturbing. But once again, the events in this chapter are very real and actually happened on June 10, 1944. Please take this into consideration as you continue to read, but most importantly of all, let us not forget, so that this may never happen again. Also, I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

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As fate would have it, Ludwig was stopped in the hallway a few moments later by a man who had a letter in his hand.

"Are you SS-Sturmanbannführer Ludwig Beilschmidt?" he asked.

"I am."

The man handed the letter to him. "This is addressed to you."

Ludwig took the letter and thanked him, and the man left. He glanced down at the return address and smiled. It was his fianceé, Eva Müller.

Without waiting to even leave the hall, Ludwig moved out of the way of anyone walking through and leaned against the wall as he ripped the envelope open.

When he pulled the letter out, something fell to the floor. Ludwig stooped to pick it up, and when he reached for it, he stopped cold.

It was a ring. But not just any ring. Her ring.

His heart fell down into the pit of his stomach. This must be some mistake. He grabbed the ring and looked at it closely. His eyes must be lying to him. _This couldn't be hers, there's no way! There must be another Beilschmidt somewhere, someone must have made some mistake… _

In almost what felt like a dream, Ludwig straightened up and opened the letter. His heart broke more with every word that was written.

_Ludwig_

_I haven't seen you in close to two years now. I just can't do this anymore. You say that you love me more than life itself, but I just can't believe it anymore. Germany has taken the place in your heart that I thought was mine. _

_I'm sorry. _

_Goodbye Ludwig._

_Eva_

Ludwig's hands fell limp at his sides, and he dropped the letter and the ring. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the thud of the ring against the wooden floor. His vision went blurry, and his face grew hot. A huge knot grew in his chest. He couldn't breathe. _This just isn't happening,_ he thought. _There's just… no way… _

Someone called his name. He only half heard them. He didn't care anyway, now that Eva was…

Gilbert was suddenly standing in front of him, a look of concern on his face. How'd he not notice him come up?

"Ludwig, what's going…" He searched his face, then his eyes widened. He glanced down at the letter and the ring that lay on the floor, forgotten. "Mein Gott," Gilbert whispered.

Ludwig's knees failed him, and he crashed into Gilbert's lean frame, but Gilbert caught him. He slowly sank down to his own knees, holding the silently sobbing man he called his brother, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. So he just knelt there and tried to keep his brother from falling apart.

Gilbert gave Ludwig a few moments before pulling him up to his feet. "Alright, bruder, we've got a job to do."

Ludwig took a deep breath, then smoothed his hair back with one hand. With the other, he wiped away his tears. He cleared his throat, then bent down and picked up Eva's letter and ring. He then folded the letter and placed it along with the ring in the inside pocket of his jacket. "You're right," he said harshly. "We've got a job to do."

Gilbert grinned. "That's the spirit!" He clapped Ludwig on the back as they walked out of the hotel together.

The clouds had begun to gather as soon as the clock struck eight, and the rain began to fall about an hour and a half later, soon drenching everything and everyone in it.

Ludwig stood unflinching in the downpour, his coat collar turned up against the wind and rain. His face was stone, his brow furrowed and lips turned down in a sort of passive grimace. The familiar weight of his Luger P08 service pistol at his hip offered some sort of stability in the midst of the unknown and chaos all around him. Men were running back and forth, yelling orders. Jeeps splashed through the deepening mud, spraying it in every direction they went.

Gilbert sloshed through the mud to stand just behind Ludwig's right shoulder. Ludwig didn't turn around.

"My men are ready to move," he said.

"Same," Ludwig replied.

Gilbert rubbed his jaw absentmindedly with one hand as he glanced over his shoulder behind him. "Got any idea what exactly we're about to do?" he muttered just loud enough for only Ludwig to hear.

"None at all," Ludwig whispered.

Just then, Deikmann rolled up next to the brothers in a jeep. Both Ludwig and Gilbert snapped to attention and saluted. "At ease," Deikmann barked. Ludwig folded his hands behind him, and Gilbert crossed his arms.

"Are your men ready to move?" Deikmann inquired.

"Yes sir," Ludwig responed. Gilbert nodded.

"Good," he replied.

"Sir!" Ludwig called out before Deikmann could drive away.

"Yes Beilschmidt!"

"Might I ask where we're moving our men to?"

Deikmann grinned. "Oradour-sur-Glane."

"Thank you, sir." Ludwig forced a smile as Deikmann's Jeep drove away. The smile faded as soon as the Jeep was far enough away, which was when Ludwig finally turned to Gilbert. Concern was etched onto his face, and his eyes were worried.

"There's nothing in Oradour-sur-Glane. I know this, you know this…" He shook his head slowly. "What are we doing?"

Gilbert shrugged and watched the Jeep slowly grow smaller in the distance. "Nothing good, I know that much."

A truck rolled by, and Gilbert's eyes widened. He nudged Ludwig in the arm with his elbow and pointed to the truck with his chin. Ludwig turned to look, and whispered something inaudible. The bed of the truck was filled with ammunition, weapons, and cans of gasoline.

"Mein Gott," Ludwig murmured, "Deikmann has lost his mind."

However, something caught Ludwig's attention. Something that left him at a loss for words.

The officer driving the truck that held the ammunition, weapons, and gasoline was none other than a man by the name of SS-Standartenführer Roland Schieck. A man that Ludwig himself had pegged to be a psychopath.

The rain did not last terribly long, and Gilbert and Ludwig, along with the men who rode with them, pulled into the small French village behind the convoy of about eleven jeeps and trucks at about two o'clock in the afternoon. The weather had turned today into a pleasant Saturday afternoon, and the sun was shining on the mud puddles that were scattered here and there. About two hundred men had come to Oradour-sur-Glane this afternoon, their intentions still largely unknown and shrouded in mystery.

Gilbert put the jeep in park and killed the ignition, and all of the soldiers who rode with them quickly grabbed their weapons and jumped out, but he didn't open the door. Neither did Ludwig.

"Can you see what's going on?" Gilbert asked, one hand still on the wheel. "No," Ludwig frowned. "Hold on." After a moment's hesitation, Ludwig pulled his pistol out of its holster, chambered a round, reholstered it, and opened his door before he grabbed his rifle and stepped down into the muddy cobblestone street.

"Ludwig…" Gilbert's voice wavered with caution before he stepped out onto the street himself, slamming the jeep's door closed behind him with a sharp and exacerbated sigh.

Ludwig waited for Gilbert to come up next to him though before he began to walk toward the front of the convoy, where Deikmann and Schieck were. As they walked, Ludwig's stomach became all tied up in knots, and his hands were growing clammy. This set him even more on edge. After all, there wasn't much that could put him in a state like this, minus what had just happened with Eva. Eva… He had to get her back somehow. There was no way that he could just simply let her go, not after all that they had been through together over the years. Various questions and reasons why she would send such a letter to him ran through his mind, primarily that he had left her alone for too long, and she had turned to found comfort in another man. But no, he couldn't be speculating about such things. He would have to find out the facts and the truth behind this whole ordeal. How exactly he was going to do that was a mystery to him at the moment, but he could think about that later. He had to figure out what on earth was going on, right here, right now, in the small French village of Oradour-sur-Glane, not in the house in Berlin that he and Eva were planning on sharing. Well, had been planning on sharing…

Gilbert grabbed Ludwig's elbow and jerked him around to face him. The look in his eye said something along the lines of _Pull yourself together and pay attention, something isn't right. _

Ludwig nodded and kept walking. _Focus, Ludwig, _he thought. _Focus on the situation at hand and what's going on right in front of you._

Deikmann and Schieck stepped out of their respective jeeps and gestured for the higher officers to draw close, which included Gilbert and Ludwig. When they had all gathered around, Deikmann spoke up.

"Gather every person in this village into the market square. No exceptions. Tell them to bring their paperwork for an identity check. If they resist…" He casually pulled his coattail away from his hip and patted his sidearm with his index finger. "Convince them."

Time seemed to slow down until it moved at a snail's pace.

Sounds became dull, nothing more than echoes of shouts and cries.

Ludwig's feet moved at a shuffle, and every house blended together until he could no longer differentiate between them anymore.

The town crier carried the news through the village before the SS.

His voice constantly remained in the background in the midst of the chaos.

The faces of the families in the houses merged together into one blur.

One terrified blur.

A weeping woman holding her baby.

An elderly man startled awake from his afternoon nap.

A screaming child.

The constant thudding of his squad's boots against the cobblestone street.

Ludwig would never forget a single moment of today.

The date was June 10, 1944.

Today was the day it all began.

By three o'clock, all of the village was grouped together in the square. SS were standing all around, rifles out and aimed at anyone and everyone, screaming orders every other second. Ludwig was on full autopilot. If Deikmann said something, he did it. If Schieck said something, he did it. Nothing felt real. His arms felt numb, and his feet were as heavy as if they were made of lead.

Schieck's distinctly sharp voice pierced the afternoon air. "Beilschmidt!"

Ludwig's head snapped in his direction. "Sir!"

"Get the women and children into that church over there." He pointed to a small chapel just over a hill, not far away. "Make it quick, I need you to come back quickly to help search this village."

Ludwig nodded and began giving orders to his men, who were soon helped by other soldiers who were more than happy to aid in breaking the families apart. He caught sight of Gilbert about twenty yards away, by the back corner of the group of Frenchmen who had already been separated from the main group. He had his rifle pointed at the ground in a relaxed position, but his eyes were wide, almost in what looked like a slight panic. He and Ludwig locked eyes for a moment before Gilbert turned away quickly. In the back of his mind, Ludwig had an idea that Gilbert sensed more of what was going on than he could, and it was bad enough to make his normally unshakeable brother so alarmed.

But these thoughts were quickly brushed out of Ludwig's mind. He had to get these women and children to the church. For what purpose, he didn't know, but at the very moment, he honestly didn't really care.

Ludwig returned from taking all of the women and children of the village to the nearby church, having left one of his squad leaders there in charge.

By the time Ludwig stepped into the market square again, all of the men were seated in three rows near the wall. They were talking amongst themselves with hushed and concerned voices. Some were praying. One young man was shaking so much that he could barely sit up straight.

Deikmann walked up next to Ludwig casually, his hands folded behind him at the small of his back. He didn't make eye contact, but only surveyed the events unfolding directly before them. "I hear that you have quite the way with languages."

Ludwig furrowed his brow, taken slightly aback by the question. "I-I know a few, sir, so I guess one could say that."

Deikmann chuckled before continuing. "Do you know French?"

"I do, sir."

"Well enough to translate?"

Ludwig paused, considering, then nodded. "It's not perfect, but it'll do, sir."

Deikmann grunted before walking toward the center of the square and gesturing for Ludwig to follow. He did, and stood beside his commanding officer while Deikmann spoke to the men of the village, and Ludwig translated his words from German to French.

"There are secret arms and munitions deposits here made by terrorists," Ludwig announced loudly, so that his voice carried far past the reaches of the market square. "We shall make searches. During this time, to facilitate our operations, we shall put you in the barns." He pointed to the wooden buildings that stood behind him. "If you know of any such deposits, we request that you reveal them to us now."

At first, no one moved. No one said a word. After a moment, men started to whisper to each other. Ludwig could catch a few words here and there, and they were mostly the same. "What are they talking about?" "What munitions deposits?" "Terrorists? Who are they talking about?"

Ludwig's stomach began to turn. This was not going to end well at all…

Deikmann turned to Ludwig and said, "Beilschmidt, tell the men who are currently at the church to spare anyone they can to contribute to the search of this town."

"Yes sir." Ludwig turned on his heel and set off for the church once more. It would take about five minutes or so to get there, but he wasn't in any real rush.

He happened to glance back just before exiting the square, and he saw Gilbert again. His lips were parted, and his eyes were pleading. Ludwig was so confused… But he didn't have time to wonder at what was getting to Gilbert, so he clenched his jaw and pressed on. He didn't look back.

Ludwig leaned against the side of the church, his rifle leaning against his hip and his arms crossed. Only ten men besides himself were left to guard the women and children in the church, while the rest joined in the search of the village. Ludwig knew they were not going to find anything, because there was nothing to find, and was sure that Deikmann and Schieck knew it.

Ludwig came to the conclusion that they were here for no reason other than to pillage this town. The real question was this: What were the plans for these innocent people?

Almost at the same moment this thought came to Ludwig's mind, Gilbert sprinted around a street corner, panting heavily. "Gilbert!" Ludwig gasped as he ran to his brother, "I thought you were in the square! What are you doing here?"

Gilbert grabbed Ludwig by the shoulders and drew his face close. "They-they're going to kill them!" he whispered hoarsely.

Ludwig frowned, thoroughly confused. "Who? Kill who?"

Gilbert shook Ludwig as hard as he could, so that his cap was knocked off of his head and into a puddle behind him, and then screamed, "ALL OF THEM!"

Ludwig shook his head. "Gilbert, where'd you…" He paused, suddenly overcome by the overwhelming facts that had just come together in his mind.

They had more than enough weapons with them to complete what they believed their job would be when they set out this morning.

They had separated women and children.

A psychopath was second in command in this mission.

And Deikmann was out for blood.

All of the pieces fell into place, and Ludwig's heart began to pound. He put his hands on Gilbert's shoulders. "We have to do something before they-!"

A loud explosion sounded from the market square that cut off the rest of Ludwig's sentence. Both his and Gilbert's heads whipped toward the sound.

And then…

The distinct cracks of machine guns being fired, followed by a chorus of screams, all started coming from different directions.

Gilbert turned away and released Ludwig's shoulders and laced his fingers through his hair. His mouth hung open in what could have been a silent scream. His eyes were as wide as dinner plates. Ludwig's jaw had dropped as well. _I must be dreaming… _

Gilbert began to run down the street and toward the nearest source of screams and gunshots. Ludwig could only run after him.

They ran for only a minute or so before they came up on it.

A group of SS stood at the open doors of a barn, while the majority of them were inside, walking overtop the bodies of some of the men of the village, all of whom were shot in the legs, some in the head and torso. From where he was, Ludwig could see an arm move toward the front, and a nearby SS soldier saw it too. He quickly pulled out his revolver and shot. The arm didn't move again.

Ludwig could feel Gilbert tense up, and he could practically hear his pent up rage that was just begging to be released. No one had noticed the brothers' presence, so Ludwig decided to use that to their advantage. He grabbed Gilbert's arm and dragged him behind some old barrels that were a few feet away. Gilbert tried to protest, but once he saw Ludwig's plan, he went along willingly enough.

As they sat against the barrels, Ludwig began to rack his mind for what to do next. They were powerless now to help the men in the barn behind them, and he guessed that the situation was the same in all the other places the men of this village were as well by now. But what about the women and children in the church? Were they even still alive? He had heard nothing coming from that direction, so he had to hope that they were still alright.

He had turned to Gilbert and was about to tell him this, when something caught his nose. Gilbert noticed it too, and he made a face at it. Ludwig stopped and sniffed the air, trying to place it, when the horrific realization of what was happening struck him like a slap to the face.

He whipped around to face the barn at the same time Gilbert did, but it was already engulfed in flames. The smell of burning flesh was strong now that he was facing the source, and he could hear the terrified screams coming from inside of the men who were burning alive, along with the lighthearted laughter and small talk of the SS soldiers who stood safely outside.

For the women and children in the church, time was running out.

Ludwig leaned over to whisper in Gilbert's ear.

"The church. Now."

Gilbert nodded and clenched his jaw, looked back at the barn once more, then began to run.

Ludwig followed close behind, only he didn't look back. He couldn't bring himself to do it.

They couldn't escape from the screams, no matter where they ran or how fast. They were carried by the wind to every corner of the village, along with burning ashes from the fires. The stench of burning bodies, both dead and alive, hung heavily in the air and mingled through the streets.

As their boots pounded the stone, the two Beilschmidt brothers had the same thought.

_God have mercy on us._


	5. Alfred and Sarah Jane: June 1944

Sarah Jane Elliot awoke long after the sun had risen above the horizon. With a groan, she rolled over and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was already nearly eleven in the morning, but she had no intention of getting up just yet.

After spending last night in the company of Alfred Jones, Sarah Jane had snuck into her house a little past one in the morning. Her parents could sleep through a hurricane and be none the wiser, so she had never been caught before. Her parents probably have no idea that she goes out so late and often. What would they do if they ever found out?

Frankly, she had no clue, and she honestly didn't care.

A tap on her window caught her attention, and a quick succession of tap-tap-taps drew her out from under the covers. Not bothering to throw on the bathrobe that hung on her door, Sarah Jane pulled up the neckline of her silk nightgown with a quick tug and pulled back the curtains that covered her window. Bright morning light streamed in, bathing her and everything in the room in a warm and golden glow.

Sarah Jane smiled at the young man that stood outside of her window. He was dressed in sailor whites, and in his hand were a bunch of daisies that he had picked himself. His grin was as wide as the Kansas sky.

Sarah Jane opened her window and leaned out. "I thought I told you not to come here!" she teased. The sailor glanced down at the ground, suddenly feeling a bit dejected. "Sorry Sarah Jane, but I just had to see you again… I hope you don't mind… I'm crazy about you!" He then handed her the flowers, which she took with a smile.

Sarah Jane smelled the flowers and smiled softly. She then set them carefully on her bedside table before turning back to the sailor outside the window. For a moment, she just stood there, leaning out of the window, studying the sailor. She then reached out her hand and caressed his cheek with a slender finger, her nails painted a deep shade of crimson. Her hands then wandered up to his hair, which she started to twist between her fingertips. "Answer me this," she said as her hands traveled over his chin and down to the buttons on his dress shirt.

Whilst playing with his collar with one hand, Sarah Jane whispered, "Just how crazy, Matt?"  
The sailor looked up at her, and his smile spread from one ear to the other. "More crazy than I know how to say!"

Sarah Jane drew the sailor close and began to kiss him passionately. After a moment, she drew back. "Then show me."

-x-x-x-

Alfred sat in the back compartment of the train car, quite alone. He didn't mind though. His mind was pleasantly full, thanks to last night. After the train had been going for what he guessed was about a half hour, he got up and decided to walk around. It would be good for him to stretch his legs a bit, after all, this was going to be a long trip.

The door slid open easy enough, and he shut it quietly behind him as he slowly walked toward the front of the car. He remembered seeing some sort of refreshment area two or three cars ahead, so he decided to make for there. He was starting to get a little hungry anyway.

Other people in the car would hear him walk from inside the compartments. Old men would glance up from their newspapers and give him a nod, Women would smile pleasantly at him. Children would wave. One kid, a boy about seven years old or so, ran up to him from a compartment that he had just passed. He yanked on his trousers leg and said excitedly, "Hey mister!"

Alfred glanced down, slightly startled. "Yes?"

"Sorry to bug ya, mister, but are you goin' off to the War?"

Alfred smiled and nodded. "Europe, if you want to know any specifics."

The kid grinned widely, two small white teeth missing. With wonder and enthusiasm in his bright eyes, he asked, "You gonna kill Nazis?"

Alfred's smile began to fade. His eyes darkened, and he clenched his jaw. "You shouldn't ask questions like that." The words came out low and menacingly, each word sharp and angry. With this said, Alfred turned and rushed away. He yanked open the train car door roughly, then slammed it shut loudly behind him.

The kid's smile was replaced with a confused frown. "I don't understand…" he whispered to himself. "Why would you not want to kill Nazis?"

-x-x-x-

Alfred spotted a bathroom on his immediate right, and he seized his chance to have some privacy.

The second he was locked in the tiny room, which was about the size of a broom closet, he ran his fingers through his hair, exasperated and at war with himself. He didn't know what made him say that to that little kid, or where the anger came from, but at the same time, he did know.

_You're no killer. Why'd you even sign up? You know that you couldn't bring yourself to kill anyone… What do you think you're doing?_

Alfred's eyes welled up with hot, angry tears, which fell silently down his cheeks. This train was going to take him to a ship, which was going to take him to some place in Europe, which was where the Nazis were, and he was expected to send as many of them to meet their Maker as he could, or die trying.

But Alfred was no killer.

_What am I going to do?_

-x-x-x-

Alfred tried to steer clear of anyone else for the rest of the trip, especially the little boy. He even went so far as to change out of his uniform for a while so as to attract less attention. There really was no point to that though, since he just stayed in his compartment for the rest of the way, until the train was nearing the station a few hours later. Only then did he put his uniform back on.

Alfred was the first one off of the train, and he didn't look back. He walked as fast as he could, his bags in his hand, to buy the ticket for the next leg of his journey. This went on for two days. By the time he had stepped off of his last train, Alfred was exhausted. He had only one thing on his mind then, and that was sleep.

He hailed the first cab he saw, which took him to the nearest hotel, where he snatched up the first available room. When he closed the door behind him, Alfred dropped his bags on the floor, stripped off his uniform, and fell down on the bed without bothering to pull back the covers. He was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. No dreams entered his mind that night, neither good nor bad, and he was perfectly alright with that. The last thing he wanted right now was to dream.

-x-x-x-

Another day and a half later, Alfred breathed in deeply the salty air in the harbor. Seagulls called to each other overhead, and men called to each other all around him. The shrill cries of the gulls and the loud yells of the men became jumbled together, and with the two together in his ears, he could hardly think. So he pushed his way through the crowds pressing in on every side. He tried to mumble an "excuse me" every so often, but he gave up after the first twenty times. _Let these squids think I'm a jerk, I don't care. I've got a ship to England I need to catch, and they are NOT going to make me late._

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**Reviews are lovely, but not as lovely as you, dear reader! Thanks for reading!**

**Until next time!**


	6. Francis: 10 June, 1944

**Warning: This chapter has violent parts toward the end, so just a fair warning.**

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Estelle's words cycled through Francis' mind over and over while he carried her to the hospital as quickly as he could. It was only a few blocks away, but the journey felt miles long. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and the sound of his boots slamming against the stone street echoed eerily into the darkness that pressed around them both. It was a darkness so thick and heavy and silent that Francis could have sworn that it would reach its cold, dead fingers into his mouth, down his throat, and fill his lungs, suffocating him.

They were the only ones on the street at this ungodly hour. The only ones awake. Two bodies: One filled with fear, despair, and shock; but the other? Completely devoid of anything. She was empty. There was nothing.

-x-x-x-

When Francis threw open the doors to the hospital, everything happened too quickly for him to attempt to process. Nurses came out of nowhere, asking questions, yelling things, sliding metal carts, drawing curtains. They drug Francis to one end of the room and down a white hallway, then into a small room where there was a row of beds that were separated by curtains on either side. Nurses told him to lay her on the bed. He did. They asked him what happened. He said he didn't know, just that he walked in and saw her like this. They asked him who she was. He told them.

"She's my sister. Her name's Estelle, Estelle Bonnefoy." His voice was shaking, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. "Please, can someone please tell me-"

A nurse, whose gray hair was pulled up into a severe-looking bun and whose face was hard and unfeeling pulled him aside and said, "Sir, I'm going to need you to step out and go to the waiting room. Someone will be out shortly to update you on her condition." Before he even realized it, he was standing in the hallway, and the nurse had slammed the door.

"Hey!" Francis yelled through the glass at the nurse, who didn't let on that she could hear him. The other nurses did the same. Estelle had not moved a muscle.

He tried the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. "Hey!" Francis banged on the door with his fists, trying to make as much racket as possible. "Let me in there! That's my sister, I need to be in there-get your hands off of me!" Two other men had grabbed Francis by his arms so hard that it hurt and begun to drag him away from the door, back toward the waiting room and the front entrance. "No, stop! Get off me, you swine! Estelle!" Francis fought with everything that he had in him, but both men were larger than he, and their grips were firm. They had almost dragged him completely down the hallway. "Estelle!" Francis was now screaming. The words ripped through his throat, and his voice dripped with sheer and utter desperation. The door to Estelle's room was nearly out of sight. Only a couple of feet left until he would be in the waiting room, cut off. The words spilled out of his mouth and tumbled onto the floor, shattering against the white tile like broken crystal. Spittle mingled with salt water.

"Estelle! _Je suis désolé! Dieu me pardonne! Je suis désolé!_"

The door shut.

-x-x-x-

When the sun rose, its soft pink and gold light pushed its way through a hospital window, revealing specks of dust that floated freely all around. It cascaded down over a beige armchair that had clearly seen better days, and it bathed the miserable man sitting in that miserable chair. The man's blonde hair was a mess. His face was pale. Dark circles were drawn under his eyes, which were normally as blue as the sky but today were cloudy with lack of sleep and despair. His fingernails had been chewed down to the quick, and a couple of his fingers were caked with dried crimson. He fiddled with a hole in the cushion of the left arm of the chair, sticking his fingers in the hole, pulling out the stuffing, then cramming it back in, only to remove it and replace it again. Someone had brought him a cup of coffee sometime close to three or four o'clock in the morning, and it was still sitting where it was originally placed on the table to his right, untouched and cold. Thoughts raced through his mind, each one more awful than the last.

_This is all my fault._

_If I hadn't gone out on that stupid flight, then none of this would have happened. _

_If I had come home earlier, then Estell would be alright._

_Why did I have to leave her alone? _

_Why couldn't I have said "No" to the flight, then we wouldn't be here. _

_This is all my fault._

_Who could have done this?_

_Why?_

_I don't understand._

_When I find out who did this, I'm going to kill them._

_This is all my fault._

A door on the opposite side of the waiting room squeaked open, sharp and clear, and Francis jerked his head up and jumped to his feet. The nurse that stood in the doorway beckoned another person who was waiting, and Francis sat back down slowly and dejectedly. He sighed and rubbed his face with his palms, then rubbed his hands together absentmindedly. How long they were going to make him wait there, he didn't know, and every second that he sat there, he felt more and more helpless.

The door's piercing squeal brought Francis back to the moment, and he scrambled to his feet. Surely they would call him back to see Estelle now.

The nurse didn't even glance in his direction, but headed to the nurse's desk to hand off a clipboard of papers to the nurse behind the counter. She walked back through the squeaky door again, oblivious to Francis.

Francis slumped back into the chair, frustrated and tired. _When is Adeline going to get here? _

Within seconds, the door opened again, its squeak cutting through the near silence of the waiting room. After being disappointed twice, Francis looked up at the door again, expecting to be let down once more. In the door stood Adeline, her long blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail, in a pristine white nurse's uniform.

"Francis."

Her voice, saying his name, nearly sent Francis over the edge. He stood up shakily, gripping the arm of the chair for support. "C… Can I…"

Adeline nodded, then stood aside from the door, beckoning him into the hall. Francis strode quickly across the waiting room and through the door, and Adeline swung the door closed behind him. The click of the door closing echoed loudly down the brightly lit hallway. Francis dared to ask the dreaded question.

"How is-"

"She's asleep right now. We gave her something to help her sleep, she's been through a lot. After the beating she recieved, she's lucky to be alive." They were now standing in front of the door to Estelle's room. "I'm not even supposed to be doing this, but I'm going to let you in there for a minute. When I say come out, you have to come out, or I could lose my job. Got it?" Francis nodded. "Alright, go. The charge nurse shouldn't be back for a couple of minutes at most, I told her I would hold down the fort while she got something to eat. I'll knock on the door when you need to go." Francis nodded again, and Adaline opened the door to usher Francis in.

There she was. _Oh sweet Estelle… _

The only sounds in that room were the sounds of the machines beeping, Estelle's ragged and shallow breathing, and Francis' own pounding heart. He walked slowly to the side of the bed. His footfalls were entirely too loud and were out of place in that room.

As he stood over Estelle as she lay asleep on the bed, his tears began to flow down his cheeks anew. His lip quivered, and he sank down to his knees at her side. Ever so gently, he took up her slender hand in his and kissed it tenderly. He had no words for her, and he was glad that she was asleep. He didn't know how long he sat there watching her sleep. Looking at her in this state tore at his heart. He wished that he could take it all away from her. He wanted to take her pain. Oh, what he would do to switch places with her. His beautiful sister, reduced to this…

A quietly urgent knocking sounded from behind him. Francis pursed his lips and stood to his feet. He placed Estelle's limp hand back down on the bed at her side before leaning over the railing and kissing her forehead, which was dampened with sweat. He rested his forehead against hers as he whispered, "Je t'aime, Estelle."

Francis straightened up and quickly left the room, but not before glancing back one last time. Estelle had not stirred from her drugged sleep. Her broken and bandaged body lay undisturbed upon the sheets.

-x-x-x-

Francis and Adeline stood together in a corner of the waiting room.

"You need to go home and get some sleep."

Francis shook his head. "You didn't see what the house looked like. I'm not going back there."

"Okay, don't go back home. I don't care where you go, get a hotel, go to a friend's place, go to my house for all I care, just sleep." Adeline put a hand in Francis'. "Please. For me. You need to rest."

Francis glanced down at Adeline's hand in his and, after a moment, he looked into her eyes and nodded. "Okay," he whispered, his voice strangled with grief. "Okay."

Adeline smiled grimly. "Alright. If there's anything I can do, please tell me."

Francis put his hands up to cup her face tenderly. "You've already done it."

-x-x-x-

Francis left the hospital, and, not knowing where else he could go, walked slowly back home. A light drizzle had started, and soon his disheveled hair and eyelashes were coated in a layer of shimmering silver. Only a few people were on the street, but they were going about their business, not bothering to notice a miserable man walking down the street with his head down and hands in his pockets.

While he walked, Francis thought. He thought about Estelle, he thought about Adeline, he thought about what he was doing for the Resistance. He only thought about Estelle for a moment before redirecting his thoughts to Adeline. Thinking about his sister right now hurt him too much. So, he thought about Adeline. She had become something all her own to him over the past few months, different from any other relationship he had ever had with anyone else. She was unique. She made him happy, and with her, he could never imagine being with anyone else. No one else mattered when he held her, and the rest of the world melted away with her kiss. She was something he had never seen before, and such a rare thing that he knew that if he ever let her go, he would never find her equal, even if he spent the rest of his life searching.

Entirely too soon, Francis stood in front of the door to his house. It took an entire minute to work up the courage to open the door, and then another after that to step into the entryway. The destruction of the living room greeted him, and by now, he was completely numb. He walked in slowly, the wooden floor creaking with each step, until stood in the middle of the living room. He stayed there for probably ten minutes before seeing something by the sofa. It was silver, and glinted in the morning light. Puzzled, Francis strode over, stooped down, and picked it up. As he drew the silver thing up to his face to examine it, he turned it in his hand. A German Death's Head lay in his hand. Its empty black eye sockets stared up at him mockingly.

The rage that ignited in Francis' chest was unlike any that he had ever felt in his life. He began to shake. He tried to breathe, but couldn't. He couldn't think. He could only burn with rage.

A rage unlike any other.

A rage that drives men to kill.

-x-x-x-

Francis found himself in a Resistance safe house forty-five minutes later. With the Death's Head resting on the wooden table before him, he explained everything that had happened to Estelle to his fellow fighters, not leaving out a single excruciating detail. "She said 'There were five', and those five left evidence." He pointed to the Death's Head that was on the table, a clear look of disgust on his face.

For a moment, no one said anything, until one man, a dark-haired Frenchman that went by the name of Jean Canou, pushed his chair back and stood. "Well, me and a couple of guys got our hands on something you might be interested in."

Francis turned to look at him. "I'm listening."

Jean glanced at the men to his left, almost as if he were asking for approval, before turning back to meet Francis' gaze.

"We have someone we need to interrogate, but I think you'll want this one."

Francis sat up straight in his chair. "Who?"

"German. Officer. Name's Helmut Kämpfe."

"How far?"

"Three and a half hour drive."

Francis grinned. "I'll take it."

Jean grinned widely in response. "I had a feeling you'd say that. We'll leave in five."

-x-x-x-

Francis walked into the house about nine, followed by three other men, one of whom was Jean. A tall man with slicked back chocolate hair greeted them. He appeared to be in his early thirties.

"Georges Guingouin," Jean said, "meet my friend, Francis Bonnefoy."

He extended his hand for Francis to shake, and his smile was genuine, but Francis decided there was something off about him. He just couldn't exactly tell what it was.

"Heard you have Kämpfe here," Jean remarked.

Guingouin nodded. "You heard right."

"You interrogated him yet?"

"Some, but we haven't gotten anything out of him so far."

"Well, Bonnefoy here has a certain knack for extracting information."

Guingouin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

In reality, Francis was no better than any other man when it came to interrogating, but he figured he'd get farther if he just went along with Jean's plan. "Oui, monsieur."

Guingouin gestured toward a door behind him. "See what you can get out of him."

-x-x-x-

Helmut Kämpfe was in bad shape. He was already bloodied and bruised all over his body, and his throat burned from thirst. The rope used to tie his hands behind his back was tight enough to draw blood if he fought it too much, and his stomach gnawed on itself. He didn't move when the door opened. He only shut his eyes against the light that streamed in from the open doorway. A light was turned on above his head. _Mein Gott, here we go again._

Francis sighed as he opened the door. The odors of blood, vomit, urine, and feces assaulted his nose, and he paused before closing the door behind him and Jean. He turned to Jean, who nodded, before starting.

Francis strode over to the hunched shape in the middle of the small room. He stood before him, silent, for a moment before opening his mouth.

"I know exactly who you are, but I want you to tell me for yourself."

Kämpfe didn't react.

Francis waited three seconds before sending his foot forward, connecting with Kämpfe's skull with enough force to crack bone. Jean flinched. Kämpfe yelled and fell to the side, but said nothing. A steady stream of crimson flowed from a gash on Kämpfe's temple.

"I said," Francis repeated calmly, "I want you to tell me who you are for yourself."

Kämpfe looked up at Francis from the concrete floor just as calmly. He sneered. "Kommen in die Hölle, Französisch schweine."

Francis' German wasn't perfect, but he knew what exactly what that meant, and it gave him an idea. "I see we understand each other then." Francis smiled. Without breaking eye contact with Kämpfe, Francis spoke to Jean. "Tell Guingouin that we have an uncooperative prisoner."

Jean turned to leave, but Francis stopped him first. "Tell him I can take care of this one." Jean nodded and left. He returned a moment later, accompanied by two other Resistance members. "Guingouin says take him out back for it." Francis nodded and left. The two men that came with Jean hauled Kämpfe to his feet and dragged him out the door. Francis glanced at the pools of human misery on the concrete at his feet before turning and following the men out.

-x-x-x-

Outside, it was only Francis, Jean, Kämpfe, and the singing birds in the trees. Kämpfe was standing as steadily as he could in the grass, facing Francis and Jean.

In Francis' hand, he held his pistol.

Kämpfe tried to face Francis with no emotion, but his legs shook ever so slightly under his soiled trousers. He had been in this position many times before, but he had always been on the other side of the barrel. Facing death now, he was afraid. Francis could see the fear in his eyes. He could practically smell it on him. It made him smile. _How ironic, _Francis thought. _Quite poetic, actually._

Kämpfe tried to bargain with the two Frenchmen. He knew it was humiliating, but he decided that it would be better to make it out of here alive and humiliated than to lie dead on the ground with pride intact. "You don't understand," he said, a slight tremor in his voice. "I am a very important man. You must know that."

Francis was not impressed. "I know just how important you are. And frankly, I don't care."

Kämpfe was legitimately shocked. _That avenue's shot. Plan B then… _

"I am a wealthy man back in Germany. I have money, property, women, you name it and it's yours."

Francis laughed out loud. This was getting to be quite funny. "I don't want your money, I don't want your things, I don't want your bloody women." He raised his pistol so it was level with Kämpfe's head. "What I want is you dead."

"No, please, just be reasonable for one second, I beg you-"

"Shut up."

Kämpfe was now shaking uncontrollably. "For the love of God-"

"Don't insult my god by saying his name."

Tears were now streaming down Kämpfe's face. "Please… Don't…"

"Why should I show you mercy? You never did."

Francis cocked the pistol.

"See you in Hell."

He pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gun echoed through the safe house and over the green hills surrounding it.

Kämpfe fell to the ground. His eyes were glazed over, wide open, terrified. Dead.

Francis lowered his pistol and handed it to Jean, who didn't speak.

The birds stopped their singing.

Everything was silent.

Francis felt nothing.

* * *

**Oh Francis... Dear Francis...**

**Thanks for reading, and please take a moment to leave a review!**


	7. Ludwig: Oradour-sur-Glane, Part Two

**DISCLAIMER: This is an actual event in history. All of what transpires in the following chapter is historically accurate, and therefore I am warning the reader that this chapter is graphic and disturbing. But once again, the events in this chapter are very real and actually happened on June 10, 1944. Please take this into consideration as you continue to read, but most importantly of all, let us not forget, so that this may never happen again. Also, I do not own Hetalia or the characters.**

* * *

Breathing.

Haggard.

Strangled.

Guilty.

With every breath that Ludwig sucked desperately into his lungs, he wished that he could give it back. Every scream that pierced his ears reminded him of how shameful it was now to call oneself a Nazi and still be able to fill one's own lungs.

This is what his so-called "brothers" did.

The flippant murder of innocents.

Ludwig was ashamed to be called a Nazi.

He was ashamed to be called German.

He was ashamed to be alive.

-x-x-x-

"What do we do?"

The church was surrounded by men, grins plastered on their faces. The moans and weeping of women and children could be heard clearly from inside the walls of the church. Ludwig and Gilbert were crouched down behind a wall only fifty feet or so away from the entrance of the church. From where they sat, they could both hear and see everything.

"Bruder," Gilbert whispered through clenched teeth. His voice shook with rage. His fingers were wrapped around his rifle, knuckles white. He stared forward, at nothing. "What do we do?"

Ludwig leaned his head back against the stone wall. He sighed. "I don't know."

Gilbert's words tumbled out of his mouth. They tripped over each other on the way out. "We have to do something, the question is what."

Ludwig closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "I don't know."

Gilbert finally turned to Ludwig. "Can you say anything other than 'I don't know'?"

Ludwig whipped around to face Gilbert. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, the words caught fast in his throat. Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to say something useful or are you just going to stare at me like an idiot?" Ludwig groaned and put his face in his hands. "Mein Gott, please tell me I'm dreaming and none of this is happening."

Gilbert rested an arm on Ludwig's shoulder. "I wish I could, bruder. I wish I could." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the barrel of his rifle. "This wasn't what I signed up for when I signed my name on that danged paper to join the SS."

Ludwig laughed. It was a sickening thing to hear, especially now. "You could say that again." He ran his dirty fingers through his hair. "I signed up to defend Germany when she needed me most." He sighed heavily, as if the weight of the dead in the air pulled his very breath down to the dirt. "I never wanted this," he added as a nearly imperceivable whisper.

"Neither did I." Gilbert sat up straight against the stone wall at his back. "Which begs the question: What are we going to do about it?"

Ludwig shook his head. "What can the two of us do against all of them? We'd die before we would be able to do anything! It would be a waste. Useless!"

Gilbert grabbed Ludwig's arm. "Listen to me. Look at me." He waited until he had Ludwig's sad blue eyes locked on his own pink ones, which might as well have been charged with electricity.

"If one single man can drive the entire world to war, then think about what _two_ men are capable of."

Gilbert let his words sink in, and when they did, Ludwig couldn't help but smile.

-x-x-x-

The plan was pretty well thought out, considering the two brothers came up with it off of the tops of their heads and in the space of two and a half minutes. Both Ludwig and Gilbert took turns writing with either their fingers or a stick in the sand at their feet.

Since Ludwig outranked Gilbert, the plan was to have Ludwig fake a call from either Deikmann or Schieck, calling the men off and away from the church. Worst case scenario would be if someone called either Deikmann or Schieck to collaborate the faulty claims, then they could count on a bullet in the skull for each of them as payment for their efforts. If it didn't work as well as hoped, then the least it would do would be to buy some time to either come up with a Plan B or get out while they still had the chance.

Gilbert was ironing out a possible fallback plan when Ludwig happened to glance up at a building about thirty feet away to his left. He froze. "Gil…"

"What?" Gilbert turned to find out what it was that his brother was looking at.

Two young girls were walking across the street. The taller one looked to be about seven or eight, the other maybe five or six. The taller one held the younger girl's hand, and the younger girl held onto a filthy rag doll, whose stuffing was spilling out from a rip between the arm and torso. Tear stains covered the dusty cheeks of both girls, and their dark hair was mussed and tangled. The younger of the two's hair was in two messy braids, her hair parted down the middle.

It was obvious that they were Jews.

They were walking toward the doors of the closest building that hadn't been burned. The older looking girl looked to be in a sort of daze.

They had no idea that two Nazis, one of which was armed with a machine gun, were walking toward another entrance to the same building. Neither party had noticed the presence of the other, but it was only a matter of seconds before that fact was to be changed.

Gilbert's eyes widened, and his lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, schei-!" His words were stolen from his mouth almost as soon as they came out, so only half of his thought made it out into the burning and bloody air.

Ludwig was already on his feet. "Distract them!" He sprinted to the side of the building where the girls were, his boot falls silent but quick.

Gilbert had a split second to think, but that was all he needed.

It was now or never.

-x-x-x-

Ludwig managed to sprint up behind the two girls without them noticing him. How, he wasn't entirely sure, but he wasn't about to argue. Without thinking, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around the two girls' mouths, effectively concealing their screams of terror. In one motion, he scooped them up in his arms, pushed open the door to the building, slid into the darkness, closed the door with his foot behind him, and fell back into the darkest corner. Hot tears streamed over his fingers, and they both tried to fight him off, but he only held them tighter. The older one tried to bite him and scratch him, anything to be released from his grip, but to no avail. "Shhh, shhh, se il vous plaît, je essaie d'aider!" Ludwig whispered this over and over to the girls. "Please, I'm trying to help!" The younger girl calmed down faster than the older one, and a few seconds later the older girl followed suit. The older girl was still crying, while the younger one had stopped. They both stared at his uniform, dumbfounded. Ludwig dared to take his hands off of their mouths, and he held up a finger to his lips. The younger girl mirrored Ludwig, putting her own finger against her chapped and cracked lips, while the older girl frowned, still confused. A sharp creak made Ludwig pull the girls' bodies against his chest, and they didn't fight him this time. Their small hands clung to him in fear, and the younger of the two buried her face in his shoulder. The older one pressed her wet cheek against Ludwig's neck. Her shaky breaths filled his ear.

Every inhale, every exhale, sounded as loud as a shout. Ludwig was sure that the pounding of his own heart would give them away.

Seconds passed.

They could hear voices on the other side of the wall.

German voices.

Both girls shook with fear, and Ludwig held them even tighter.

-x-x-x-

As soon as he saw Ludwig disappear into the building with the girls, Gilbert jogged calmly over to the two Nazis, his rifle slung loosely over his right shoulder. He held up one hand and called out to get the attention of the men. "There you are! I've been looking for you two!" The two men turned toward Gilbert, both slightly confused. One of them had his hand on the door, which was cracked open a little, ready to push it in all the way and expose the girls and Ludwig. "Hauptsturmführer Beilschmidt?" One of them said, "Can we do something for you?" The Nazi lifted his hand from the door. It creaked closed slowly.

"Yes, actually." Gilbert racked his brain for something, anything. "Would you… Would you take a message to Deikmann and tell him that 'all perceived threats have been eliminated'?"

"Of course." The young Nazis saluted and went on their way, taking Gilbert's words with them.

Gilbert very nearly sighed in relief, but he held it back until the men were out of sight. When they were gone, he spun on his heel and knocked on the door.

"Ludwig," he whispered, "They're gone."

Ludwig sighed, then said to the girls in French, "It's alright now, they're gone." He then pointed toward the door. "That's my brother, he just saved you." The older girl pulled away from Ludwig some and glanced toward the door. The younger girl still clung to Ludwig for dear life.

"Gilbert, come on in."

Gilbert eased open the door, then closed it quickly behind him. The darkness pressed in from all around. It was nearly silent. Gilbert was breathing heavily.

"They're gone."

Ludwig nodded and gestured for Gilbert to come closer. As he stepped forward, the older girl scrutinized him but said nothing. Her little sister still had not lifted up her head.

"This is my brother Gilbert."

Gilbert waved timidly and attempted a smile. The girl was not amused. She did, however, manage one sentence.

"Merci beaucoup. Pour nous sauver."

Gilbert looked to Ludwig to translate.

"She says 'Thank you for saving us'."

Gilbert smiled. "Tell her she is very welcome."

Ludwig did, but the girl still didn't smile. She just stared at him, a mixed look of disgust and fear on her face.

The younger girl finally looked up from where her face was buried in Ludwig's shoulder. Ludwig smiled, and the girl smiled back, revealing an empty, gummy space where her two front teeth should have been.

A few seconds passed before Gilbert crossed his arms and asked the all-important question of the moment.

"What are we supposed to do now?"

* * *

**Thanks for reading! And, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	8. Francis: 10-11 June, 1944

Francis pushed the door of the safehouse back, so that the morning light streamed into the dark hll. Dust swirled lazily in the shaft of gold that extended from the door to Georges Guingouin's black boots. He stood silently, almost thoughtfully, his arms crossed and head tilted to one side, eyebrow raised.

"He didn't give you much trouble, I assume? Kämpfe, that is."

Francis shook his head, still numb. Kämpfe, Goebbels, Hitler, it didn't matter. If he was German, that made him guilty in the eyes of Francis Bonnefoy.

Guilty of beating and raping his sister.

Guingouin smiled. "Good, I'm glad. I must admit that I am impressed. That was quite efficient."

Francis said nothing. He just stared back at Guingouin coldly. He had nothing to say. He just wanted to see Estelle and get away from the stench of blood that now clung to the inside of his nose.

"Sir," he finally said, "With your permission, I'd like to be able to go back home and see my sister. She was admitted to the hospital early this morning, and I'd like to be able to check on her and see that her condition is improving."

Guingouin paused to think, one finger tapping against the arm of his jacket, before nodding his head. "I think that would be wise. Jean will go with you." Francis nodded his thanks and strode past Guingouin, but the man grasped his arm in a firm grip, effectively stopping him. His fingers curled around his bicep fiercely until his knuckles were white.

"Be careful. Please. When word gets out of this, as I'm sure it will within a couple of hours, every Nazi is going to be out for blood. They'll want the head of the man who pulled the trigger on a stick. Kämpfe was a war hero to them. Now that he's dead, anything and everything is permissible in order to gain vengeance. This execution has the Resistance's fingerprints all over it, they'll suspect everyone. Get out of town. If you can, take Estelle with you. I want her to be safe as much as you do."

Francis nodded, and moved to keep walking, but Guingouin stopped him again.

"And Francis," he added, almost as an afterthought, "You might want to wash the blood off of your face."

-x-x-x-

For nearly the entire ride back, neither Francis nor Jean spoke. The tense silence built up with every hole that the car came across in the road, every jolt that slammed Francis' shoulder into the metal passenger side door until he knew he would have a nice purple bruise in the morning.

It wasn't until they were almost half an hour away from the hospital that Jean spoke, effectively dismissing the taut silence between them, while simultaneously addressing the elephant in the room.

"You seemed strange today."

Francis paused for a moment before he replied.

"Today has been a strange day."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I suppose I do."

Jean didn't reply. The crackle of the car's engine filled the empty space between them, as did the warm summer air. He waited a while minute before he spoke again.

"You seemed pretty relaxed in there, with Kämpfe."

"And this is strange to you?"

"No, it's just…"

"Just what? Spit it out, Jean."

Jean peeled his eyes from the dusty road before them to meet Francis' eyes.

"It's just that… It almost looked like… I mean, it came easier than normal. And you rushed it, and then you just… Shot him. But… It seemed to me that… You _enjoyed it._"

Now it was Francis' turn to pause. He had to chose his words carefully.

"Helmut Kämpfe is not a man. He is a swine, just like the swine that raped and nearly killed my sister. They showed my sister no mercy, so I showed none myself."

Jean was starting to see what was going on here. He knew he had to tread carefully if he was going to get anywhere with this. "Francis, he wasn't the one that raped your sister!"

"And who are you to tell me that I cannot find solace in repaying a wrong for a wrong?"

Their voices had risen louder and louder until they were both shouting at each other.

"_Francis, he didn't do it!_"

"He might as well have!"

"He never touched your sister!"

"The German pigs call themselves a brotherhood. If one brother is guilty, then they are all guilty, and therefore all pay the price!"

Both were now screaming at the top of their lungs.

"Francis, listen to yourself! They're _people_!"

"They are not _people_, Jean! They are less than that! They don't deserve to be called that! They aren't even _human_!"

Silence fell.

The steady rumble of the car engine seemed to fade away to nothing.

Francis panted, full of emotion, and now, with the realization of what had just come out of his mouth.

Jean sighed, pursed his lips, and opened his mouth.

"That makes you no better than them."

Francis tried to say something, but no words came, because he knew that Jean was right.

-x-x-x-

"She doesn't sleep, she doesn't eat, I don't know what to do." Adeline stood outside of the hospital in the cool of the morning a day later, and Francis stood with her. They were watching the people walking past, just so they could get out of the crowded white rooms and see the outside world. "We've tried everything, but I think she just has given up."

Francis sighed and crossed his arms. "She can't have given up, she's stronger than that, I know it!"

Adeline rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I don't know what to tell you. Your sister was gangraped, and she's showing the classic signs of shock and trauma. Hopefully she'll recover, but you and I both know that she will never be the same person she was before that night."

"I know that, Adeline, I just believe that she can beat this!"

"Well she can't do that alone, now can she?"

Francis was silent.

"Where have you been? You take her here, then you leave, and you don't come back until the wee hours of this morning. Explain that to me, please, it doesn't make any sense to me at all."

"Look, not everything can just be explained away."

"Then try!"

"I wish I could!" Francis turned to face his girlfriend. "But I can't tell some things to you, for your own sake, alright?"

Adeline threw her hands up in mock surrender. "What on earth could you be doing that you had to keep secret from me, while your only sister is lying in a hospital bed after being brutally raped?" When Francis didn't answer, she lowered her hands and narrowed her eyes. "Are you seeing someone?"

"What? No, no, what-no, I'm not seeing someone!"

"Then what were you doing all day yesterday?"

"I was busy."

"With _what_?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you!"

"You can't tell…" That's when it dawned on her. "Francis, please tell me you're not in the Resistance."

Francis' hesitation was answer enough.

"Francis, you have got to be kidding me."

"Don't say it like _that_, please."

"Francis, you're putting everyone you've ever known and loved in danger!"

"I realize that, you don't think I thought about that before I joined?"

"Yeah, but did you think that you being in the Resistance would result in the rape of your sister?"

As soon as she said it, Adeline knew that she had crossed a line. Francis' darkening face was confirmation of that. "Francis, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-"

"Yes you did, and don't deny it." His words were sharp, and cut deeply. He started to turn back toward the main door of the hospital, but Adeline grabbed onto his arm to stop him. "Francis, please-"

Francis jerked his arm from Adeline's grasp. "Sorry, but I have a sick sister to tend to." He left Adeline standing outside and walked into the hospital, alone. Adeline didn't follow.

-x-x-x-

Adeline checked in on Francis every couple of hours, but she didn't disturb him. Every time she looked in, he was sitting in a chair at his sister's shoulder, holding her hand, sometimes whispering something into her ear, sometimes stroking her hair gently. He didn't leave her side, even to eat. By the time midnight rolled around, and Adeline's shift was ending, he was still there. He hadn't moved at all. She very nearly left him there, but… He needed someone, especially now. She was in the wrong here, and she needed to rectify that as soon as possible. She had a small ham and cheese sandwich in her bag that she was going to save for herself, but she could just pick up another one once she got home.

It took her a moment, but she pulled the door to the hospital room open slowly. The hinge creaked slightly, but Francis didn't react. Once she was in, she shut the door behind her. She remained there by the door for a few seconds, and she nearly left the room then, but decided against it. Her heart melted at the sight of Francis so broken. He couldn't do this alone.

A voice came from across the room, from Francis' huddled form. It was thick, and shook in the mouth that held it.

"Did I do this to her?"

Adeline didn't respond. She only crossed the room, set the sandwich on the bedside table, and wrapped her arms around Francis. He held her face to his with a calloused hand. She could feel his body shake. The skin on her arms was sprinkled with the warmth of salty tears.

Adeline placed her lips on Francis' hair, and tears of her own spilled over her eyelashes.

"I love you Francis, you know that, don't you?"

Francis nodded.

"I really do, and if I watch this kill you, it'll kill me too."

Francis nodded again.

"Don't let it. Please."

Francis didn't hear Adeline anymore. He simply watched his sister, who had only just fallen asleep. She was his world. If he could, he would do anything to bring her back. Anything.

But he knew that there was nothing that he could do. No matter how hard he prayed or how much he loved her, odds were that she would never leave that house, no matter how far away from it he took her.

Her body may see the light of day, but he knew that her mind never would.

All he could do was whisper in her ear how much he loved her, and take vengeance into his own hands, in his own way.

It was time to get back with his boys.

It was time to kill some Krauts.

-x-x-x-

Adeline left the room shortly after in order to return home. She just couldn't stand being in that room any longer. It was just too much for her. Seeing Francis like that… It cut her too deeply. She couldn't do anything for him, and she had a feeling that her presence was intrusive at the moment.

She couldn't stay in there.

Especially now that she knew his secret.

Why it surprised her, she didn't know, and she had a feeling that he must have been involved from the very beginning. He would do that. Francis was that kind of man, to do anything and everything he could to save France. He was a patriot of the highest caliber, and she had never seen a man love his country more.

If anyone found out that he was doing this, he would most certainly be taken away, interrogated, or worse.

But what would happen to someone who knew, but failed to say anything?

What if _she_ was caught? What if they thought that she was working with the Resistance herself, or helping Francis?

She'd be dead before she would have a chance to tell her side of the story.

But… This was her wonderful, sweet, dedicated, gentle, beautiful Francis. There's no way she could do something like this to him, she'd never be able to bring herself to it…

Or could she?

If it could save her life, or possibly the lives of her family, could she hand Francis over to the Germans for being in the Resistance?

Adeline stopped walking down the crowded street, but it was empty to her. Someone pushed past her, bumping into her shoulder. _How can I even be entertaining this idea? This is Francis! _

An image of her family being drug away by Gestapo flashed in her mind's eye, and every thought of Francis disappeared.

Adeline spun around in the middle of the sidewalk and started walking briskly-not toward her apartment, but to the post office. She was there within five minutes, and she pushed the door open with one hand. Once inside, she grabbed a pen and paper, scribbled a note to an old flame, addressed it, and slipped it into the box.

The slamming of the metal door made it final. She could hear the envelope slide down the chute, out of her reach.

The envelope, and information inside, was addressed to Hauptsturmführer Gilbert Beilschmidt of the Waffen-SS.

_I'm sorry Francis. Forgive me._

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcomed, freaked out over, loved, you know... **

**Have a very merry Christmas!**

**Love, HarleyMarie**


	9. Ludwig: Oradour-sur-Glane, Part Three

DISCLAIMER: This is an actual event in history. All of what transpires in the following chapter is historically accurate, and therefore I am warning the reader that this chapter is graphic and disturbing. But once again, the events in this chapter are very real and actually happened on June 10, 1944. Please take this into consideration as you continue to read, but most importantly of all, let us not forget, so that this may never happen again. Also, I do not own Hetalia or the characters.

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"What are we supposed to do now?"

Yes, that was the question now, wasn't it?

Two decorated SS officers, in the company of two young Jewish girls. If anyone became suspicious that either of the Beilschmidt brothers could possibly be helping these girls, then death surely would come swiftly to all four souls.

The risks were great, yes.

But the certainty of the guilt that surely will follow if the two men were to do nothing was more than enough to solidify a conviction in each man's heart.

Better to die while trying to save an innocent life than to live knowing that you snuffed that life out.

"Well," Ludwig whispered. His voice was rough, like he had swallowed a handful of gravel. "We have to at least try to get them to somewhere safer than here. This place is crawling with SS, and I don't want to take the chance that someone will find them hidden in a building. We _can't_ take that chance."

"I understand." Gilbert rubbed one hand across his face absentmindedly, trying to think. It was hard to form a complete thought, the stench of burning wood and flesh was so strong. "There's a town only a few miles away. It's neutral. We can take them there."

"This town was neutral, Gil, and you see what we did to it."

Gilbert sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Then I don't know what to do."

Ludwig leaned his head back against the cool stone wall. A rough piece poked through his hair and scratched his scalp. "That makes two of us."

Gilbert was pacing now. The oldest girl watched him, and Ludwig could tell that Gilbert was worrying her. "Gil, stop."

Gilbert stopped and turned to face his brother. "What?"

"Stop pacing, you're worrying her."

Gilbert glanced down at the girl's concerned face and sat down on the floor. The girl started to relax a little.

"She doesn't understand a word we're saying, but she's pretty good at reading body language," Ludwig remarked. Gilbert nodded, deep in thought.

A few moments passed, and nothing could be heard outside of their breathing and their pounding hearts.

That's when the screams started.

They were sharp, renewed, terrible. The kind of scream that you will never be able to get out of your head, no matter how long you live.

They were coming from the church.

From the women and children.

It was only a second before the cracks cut through the air.

Gilbert was on his feet in an instant. He tried to scramble to the door, in a blind rage. Ludwig managed to grab him from behind by the coat collar and yank him back, so that he fell against his chest. "Gilbert, no!"

"Ludwig, they're-"

Gunshots.

Terrified screams.

A crash.

A deep boom.

Two.

"What are they doing?" Gilbert screamed. Ludwig clamped one hand over his brother's mouth, the other arm was wrapped tightly around his chest. "Shut up, just shut up or they'll hear you!" he hissed into his ear. He couldn't bring himself to voice what he and Gilbert already knew.

Those 'booms' were grenades.

The two girls both pressed their tiny bodies up against the two men, trying to press together to crowd out the screams that were filling their ears.

Machine gun fire.

More blood-curdling screams.

The sudden birth of an idea.

"Gil, grab one of the girls and follow me."

Ludwig swept the youngest of the two girls easily into his arms, and Gilbert did the same, his face riddled with questions and rage. "Where are we going?"

Ludwig pushed the door of the building open with his shoulder. Bloody sunlight streamed in over his head, giving him a sort of morbid halo.

"We're getting out of here, right now. This is the best chance we have."

Gilbert nodded, inhaled sharply, and pressed the oldest girl's body against his. "Then let's get going, bruder, we don't have all day!"

Ludwig smiled, and Gilbert returned it, before they fled the darkness, running into the burning light.

-x-x-x-

Ludwig and Gilbert met no resistance. They met no one at all. All of their Nazi brethren were either at the church, where they were massacring the women and children, burning barns filled with dying men, or tearing homes apart in search of anything of value. The streets were devoid of people, but they were filled with the terrified screams of the dying and the stench of the burning dead. After a few minutes, the two brothers heard a chorus of cheers from behind them, and knew that the church was going up in flames.

Gilbert spoke then. "I just want to know why…"

Ludwig's reply was simple. "I don't think there even is a reason at all."

-x-x-x-

The men arrived at the convoy of parked jeeps, their precious stolen cargo in tow. No one was there to guard them, and the sea of shining metal was deserted. Ludwig smiled. _Perfect_.

"Where'd we park, Gil?"

Gilbert glanced over the jeeps quickly before pointing to one that was close to their right. "There!"

The two sprinted to the jeep, and set the girls down on the dirt. Gilbert immediately went to work tearing the back seat cushion away from the frame. "Clear a space out under here," he said to Ludwig over his shoulder. "We can hide them under here."

"Good idea," he replied, and he joined in the task of clearing a space, but he soon realized that there was a problem. "Gil, there's only enough space for one here! Where are we going to put the other?"

Gilbert paused, thought, then reached into the back and opened a large box that was bolted to the frame of the jeep. It had been filled with ammunition when they had first come to the village, but it was empty now. "This'll work!"

Ludwig set his rifle down against the door, slipped his uniform jacket off, and balled it up to create a makeshift pillow before setting it inside the box.

"Gil, let's hurry up and get out of here before they realize that we're gone."

Gilbert nodded, then lifted the seat cushion up with one arm and gestured for the oldest girl to crawl inside. She looked at him, then at the jeep, then at her sister. Her sister smiled up at her, and the older girl frowned up at Gilbert. She then climbed into the jeep quickly, curled up under the seat, and yanked the cushion down over her head. Gilbert smiled and patted the cushion happily, but the cushion replied with what Gilbert assumed was language quite inappropriate for a girl her age. The angry tone was what tipped him off, but he only laughed and climbed into the passenger seat of the jeep.

Ludwig scooped the younger of the girls up in his arms and placed her gingerly in the ammunition box in the back. She pulled her skinned knees up to her chest and laid her head down on Ludwig's jacket, a wide grin on her face.

"Merci monsieur!" Her voice was light as a feather, and the happiness in it washed over Ludwig like a wave. Ludwig smiled, and he brushed a piece of stray hair off of the girl's tanned forehead gently before shutting the ammunition box and climbing into the driver's seat of the jeep. He fished his key from his pocket, started the engine, and floored the gas pedal.

-x-x-x-

The lone jeep tore out of the outskirts of the lonely village of Oradour-sur-Glane.

The dust that billowed out from the wheels mingled with the ash that now rose high above the scene of a now burning village. Black smoke pressed against a weeping sky, curled over the bleeding ground. Thunder rolled in the distance.

The village was silent. The only thing that broke that silence was the sound of German laughter.

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**Thanks for reading, and please feel free to leave a review! I hope that every one of y'all have a very happy new year!**


	10. Francis: 3-7 July, 1944

**To the guest who said that she normally goes by Berlin: What you said truly moved me, and you are wise beyond your years. I wish that more people could see the way that you do. You are incredible. Thank you for your honest feelings, I appreciate them. More people need to hear those exact words. Anywho, here's the next chapter!**

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Adeline had avoided spending much time with Francis ever since their argument two weeks ago, and Francis was getting worried. He knew that he had probably hurt her, and he felt sorry that he had said what he had said. She didn't deserve to hear that, especially from him of all people. He should have known that telling her about his involvement in the Resistance would be a bad idea, that it would shock her into silence, but what other choice did he have? Besides, he trusted her. She wouldn't tell anyone, so his secret was safe with her.

Or so he thought.

A week and a half ago, when Francis went to Adeline's apartment to pict up a book he had left there, he found the incriminating letters wadded up in a desk drawer at her apartment. He thought that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He sat on her couch, reading and rereading them over and over again, waiting for his eyes to see something different. But they never changed. It was her handwriting on every single one, and they all named him specifically as a key member of the Resistance. They looked like drafts for a final letter, and they were all written to a man, Hauptsturmführer Gilbert Beilschmidt. A stamp was also missing from her sheet.

She had done the unthinkable.

The unforgivable.

She had turned him in, when he had trusted her explicitly with information that had the power to end his life.

She might as well have signed his death certificate.

While he was at Estelle's bedside for nearly every waking moment, he racked his brain as of what to do next. Should he run now while he had the chance? Should he stay with his sister, who needed him now more than ever. Should he confront her or play dumb? Should he tell one his friends in the Resistance? Maybe Jean, Jean might know what to do… But he also might say that Francis was a liability that they couldn't afford to have. He even asked Estelle what she thought of it all, but she never answered. Francis was stranded, alone, in a sea of circumstances, and he was slowly being sucked under the surface.

If he was caught, he would be taken away and tortured, no doubt. He knew too much to be spared from that. He doubted that they would want anything of his sister. She was too far gone now. She was of no use to them, and for that, Francis was grateful. It was the only good thing to come out of that night, and Francis took it without question.

When he ended up confronting Adeline was far from what he had deemed as ideal, but once it started, he couldn't stop it. Everything had to play out from start to finish, despite no one knowing where exactly the finish was.

He had left the hospital to meet with Jean at a café down the street to get an update on how everything with the Resistance was going. Jean had told him of an upcoming mission with a small group of Americans, but Francis said to not put his name down quite yet. Jean was puzzled, since Francis was usually the kind of man to jump at chances like this, but Francis' reasoning was that his sister was still in too critical of a condition to warrant a mission like that at the moment. He kept the "the woman I love more than anything turned me into the Gestapo, and now I'm just waiting for them to kick my door down and drag me into the street to shoot me" part quiet.

He was only a block away from the hospital when he saw her. She was walking toward him, with a coffee in one hand, a book in the other. She looked up, met Francis' eyes, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Her mouth was open, but no words came out. Francis kept walking toward her. He was numb. With one hand wrapped around her arm tightly, he pulled her alongside him into an alley about twenty feet away. "Francis, please, you have to listen to me-!"

"No, _you_ listen to _me_!" Francis whipped her around so that she faced him. He leaned in close, so close that his nose nearly touched hers. "You turned me in, didn't you?"

Adeline's voice was pleading, and tears streamed down her face. "Francis, please-"

"Yes or no!"

His scream made Adeline cower down against the brick wall behind her. Her shoulders shook with sobs. "I-I'm so-sorry!" She slid down the wall until she rested on the concrete ground, knees drawn up to her chest.

Francis cursed under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Why? I just want to know why."

It took her a moment to answer. "I thought… If they knew… They would kill my family if I didn't say anything!"

"Oh, and did you think about what that will do to _my _family? Did you?"

"Francis, I'm so sorry-"

"Shut up." Francis closed his eyes and sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. Eerily quiet.

"You know what? I don't even care anymore. Save your own skin for all I care. Just leave."

"Francis, you don't mean that-"

"I said go!" Francis screamed.

Adeline scrambled to her feet and sprinted out of the alley, the sound of her sobs chasing her out.

Francis was done. The one person he trusted more than his own sister and himself had abandoned him.

There was no forgiving this. The ultimate betrayal would bear the ultimate consequences, not only for him, but for her as well. It cut him deep to watch her leave, but he had to remind himself that this was what he signed up for when he started up with the Resistance. This was the price he knew he would have to pay eventually. Everyone knew that you could only go unscathed for so long, before you were bitten.

It had finally caught up to Francis.

He left the alley with his own eyes welling up with tears. If he hurried, then he might just be able to catch Jean before he left the café. He had changed his mind about that mission. He was going to take it.

-x-x-x-

Days later, he sat in a room with four other Americans. Right about now was when he really wished that he knew English, but one of the other Americans knew enough French to provide rough translations for him.

All of the other men were United States Marines. They introduced themselves as Gunnery Sergeant Robert La Salle, Sergeants Charles Perry, John Bodnar, Frederick Brunner, and Corporal Alfred Jones. All were hardened combat veterans, except for Jones. Jones was the rookie, the one with hardly any combat experience at all.

"So," Bodnar said after some small talk about the war and the man who had called them together, "Anyone know what the heck we're doing here exactly?"

The door to the room swung open, and two men walked in. "That seems to be the question of the evening," the first man said, "And gentlemen, I have all the answers." The man was tall and broad shouldered, with a smile full of ivory teeth. "I'm Major Peter Ortiz, and I'll be your commanding officer for this mission. This is Army Air Forces Captain Frank Coolidge, you're to listen to him as much as you listen to me." Coolidge nodded to the men, and Ortiz continued.

"This mission on which we are about to embark on is top secret, code named "Union II". We'll be going to the Vercors Plateau in the Haute Savoie region, close to Normandy. There's a large population of French Resistance in hiding there, and in desperate need for weapons and supplies, so we'll be making a delivery to their front step. They'll be down on the ground radioing us into the DZ. Shouldn't go off with much of a hitch if we can get in and out fast, but there's a heck of a lot of Krauts down there that would love to put a US Marine six feet under, so I wouldn't be too careful. You all will be provided weapons, maps, and other equipment you may need for when you drop down. Francis will be flying for us, and from what I understand, is quite the pilot." Francis smiled, and one of the men clapped him on the back. "Jump day is August 1. Any questions?"

"No sir," the men all chimed in.

"Good!" Ortiz rested his hands on his hips and sighed. "I sure do have a fine bunch of men here. The free world thanks you, as do I."

-x-x-x-

All of the men were lying in their bunks later that night. All of them were trying in vain to go to sleep, but their minds were too full. The upcoming mission was keeping them awake. They had tried to talk about it, but the subject fell flat. That's when Brunner brought up something that was sure to keep them talking long into the night.

"So… Any of you have a girl?"

A chorus of "Yeah!"s and "Oh buddy!"s erupted in the small barracks, and everyone leaned over to fish a photo out of their bags. Everyone except for Alfred and Francis.

While photos were being passed around, La Salle asked amid the whistles why they didn't have a picture to show, and Alfred said that she hadn't sent a photo yet. "You'd better show it to us the second it comes in the mail, or you're gonna be real sorry, kid!" They all laughed, and La Salle turned to Francis. "What about you?"

Francis didn't say anything, only looked down at his hands for a moment. He looked up and, with a sigh, said, "We were together for over a year and a half. I loved her with every part of me. I was even going to marry her after the war ends." The barracks had fallen quiet. Only Francis and Perry spoke, Perry translating for the rest of the men. "But… She turned me in to the Gestapo for being in the Resistance. I don't know why. I thought she loved me, but I guess… I guess I was wrong."

No one said anything for the longest time. No one could say anything. Everyone slowly leaned back in their bunks and let the darkness fill the empty space around them.

"That sucks," Perry whispered to Francis.

"Yeah," Francis sighed as he rolled over to face the wall. "Yeah, it does."

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**Thanks for reading! And as always, feel free to leave a review. Hope your new year has had a great start! Love all of y'all! 3**


	11. Alfred: 5-7 July, 1944

Alfred dropped his seabags on the floor of his barracks, his body completely spent. He had spent two weeks on a cramped ship filled with sailors, soldiers, and rats, and now he had finally made it to shore. Well, mind you, it was a shore an entire ocean away from home, but it was a shore nonetheless.

He had made it to England in one piece, but there had been no shortage of close calls. Fear of German u-boats had always been present, and one time, the ship's fears had been realized. A torpedo had shot up out of the water just short of the ship's hull, narrowly missing a chance to send the ship to the bottom of the ocean.

Alfred had kept to himself for the most part, since he was the only Marine on board. He still wasn't entirely sure as to what his assignment was, but from what his orders had told him, he was to take a ship to England, and someone would meet him at the port to take him to where he was to stay. There, he would learn more about what he was there for. All that was mentioned was that he was to tell no one of the nature of his assignment to England, not that he knew too many details anyway. Besides, who would he tell, Hitler? He had no one to talk to about normal, everyday things, not to mention anything secret or actually important. He was lonely, and he would be the first person to admit it. He had entirely too much time on his hands on the ship, so he occupied his time by writing letters to Sarah Jane that he planned to send as soon as they landed in port.

He also had plenty of time to think. Many times, he looked back on the night at the fair and wondered if he had made a mistake. He had let everything get away from him, and if he was honest with himself, he was ashamed that he had let it go so far without even knowing the girl in the slightest. If he could have that night back, he might not have done it the same. If he got Sarah Jane into some sort of trouble because of what he did, he'd never forgive himself.

The door of his barracks burst open, and Alfred spun around to see who it was. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, a wide grin on his face.

"Alfred F. Jones," his voice boomed, "am I glad to see you!"

Alfred frowned, confused. "Sir?"

The man extended his right hand, and he and Alfred shook hands. "Major Peter Ortiz, good to meet you!"

Alfred smiled. He had heard incredible things about this man. "You as well, sir."

"Now corporal, I have to ask you something." The major leaned in close, a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Want to do something exciting?"

"Sir," Alfred replied, "more than you know."

-x-x-x-

Alfred and four other men all sat in a back room of the barracks two days later, waiting on Major Ortiz to arrive. The five men had all introduced each other already, and were now talking about what they knew about why they were all gathered, and about the nature of what they were to be doing, which was just about nothing.

"I did hear this one thing about Ortiz," Brunner said with a smirk. "I mean, the man's a legend. So get this. He's in his civi's in a bar in Lyons, and there are some German officers there. They're drinking, and all of a sudden they start trash talking FDR. Ortiz just keeps sipping on his drink. And then they start trash talking the United States. He keeps sipping. And then they have the gall to damn the Marine Corps. Well, Ortiz had heard enough. He gets up, cool as a cucumber, and leaves. A few minutes later, he comes back wearing a raincoat and orders a round of drinks for everyone. Once all the drinks are served, he throws his raincoat off to reveal his uniform and pulls out his .45. The Germans are shocked. He gets in front of them all and says, 'A toast to the President of the United States!'. Everyone drinks, and then he orders another round. This time, he says, 'A toast to the United States!'. Everyone drinks, and then be buys _another round _and says, 'A toast to the Marine Corps!'. Once they finish drinking, Ortiz backs out of the bar and is gone. The man's incredible."

Alfred shook his head with a laugh. "Incredible is certainly the right word."

Bodner piped up now. "So, anyone know what the heck we're doing here exactly?"

"That seems to be the question of the evening," Alfred turned to face two men who had just walked into the room. One of them was Major Ortiz, the other man Alfred didn't know. "And gentlemen, I have all the answers." Ortiz flashed a smile, and spoke again. "I'm Major Peter Ortiz, and I'll be your commanding officer for this mission. This is Army Air Forces Captain Frank Coolidge, you're to listen to him as much as you listen to me." Alfred nodded to Coolidge, and he nodded back.

"This mission on which we are about to embark on is top secret," Ortiz bellowed, "Code named 'Union II'. We'll be going to the Vercors Plateau in the Haute Savoie region, close to Normandy. There's a large population of French Resistance in hiding there, and in desperate need for weapons and supplies, so we'll be making a delivery to their front step. They'll be down on the ground radioing us into the DZ. Shouldn't go off with much of a hitch if we can get in and out fast, but there's a heck of a lot of Krauts down there that would love to put a US Marine six feet under, so I wouldn't be too careful. You all will be provided weapons, maps, and other equipment you may need for when you drop down. Francis will be flying for us, and from what I understand, is quite the pilot." Everyone turned to face the Frenchman, who smiled at Ortiz. Alfred's first thought was that Francis desperately needed a haircut. "Jump day is August 1. Any questions?"

A chorus of men replied, "No sir."

"Good! I sure do have a fine bunch of men here. The free world thanks you, as do I."

Alfred smiled. He was feeling good about this mission, and about his fellow Marines. He was still unsure about Francis, but if Ortiz had taken him on, then he decided that he couldn't be that bad. He might even turn out to be a friend, even though the man didn't speak a word of English. _However_, Alfred thought, _friendship can extend over the language barrier, can't it?_

-x-x-x-

"So… Any of you have a girl?"

The lights had already been turned off, but the men were still up talking. The subject of girls was bound to come up, and all of the men were proud to show off their ladies. Pictures were passed around, and Alfred caught a sliver of sadness in his chest. He didn't have a picture of Sarah Jane… _Heck, we don't even have a relationship hardly, we just slept together. How could I have been so stupid, honestly. _He had a letter to Sarah Jane ready to be mailed in the morning, but he opened it up and added a note at the bottom of the page for her to send a picture with her next letter. He laid the letter on his chest as he talked with the men, and he promised to show them all a picture as soon as Sarah Jane sent one. That's when they asked Francis about his girl. Alfred fully expected for the suave pretty-boy Frenchman to spout off about his lovers, but his silence made Francis frown. That's when he listened to Perry translate what Francis said. The news about Francis' betrayal by the one he was to marry shocked him into silence. _I think he's got it a bit worse than you, Alfred, _he thought to himself. That's when he picked up the letter from his chest and read it again to himself.

_Sarah Jane,_

_I've finally made it to Europe, and am stationed in a semi-permanent place now. I sure do miss you. I know that we were awful rushed once we met, and that I had to leave as soon as I met you, but that couldn't be helped. I took advantage of you that night, and for that I'm sorry. I promise, that as soon as I get home, I'm going to court you properly, and buy you flowers, and take you to the movies, and kiss you under the stars, and meet your parents, the whole shebang. _

_I wish you were here right now. This war sucks, but thinking of you makes it bearable. _

_If you hear any news about another Marine named James Smith (he's been my best friend since grade school), please write me and let me know._

_Always yours,_

_Corporal Alfred F. Jones, USMC_

_P.S.- If you sent me a picture in your next letter, then that would make me so happy!_

Once he finished reading, he folded the letter back up and stuffed it into its envelope. He then slipped it under his pillow for safe keeping until the morning. For how long he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, he didn't know, but he eventually fell asleep to the sound of snoring Marines and a French summer night.

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**Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated! **


	12. Ludwig: 11 June, 1944

**Hey guys! Sorry for the delay in the update, life happens. Along with writing for another full-length story, and getting lots of ideas for _even more_ full-length stories. **

**I swear I have no life.**

**But that's good for you, so without further ado, enjoy!**

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"This'll be a good spot."

Ludwig pulled the jeep off of the abandoned street, parked it, and killed the engine. He looked the building up and down, then nodded. "It's far enough away to divert suspicion, but close enough for easy access. What do you think?"

Gilbert nodded his head and smiled. "I like it."

The two brothers stepped out of the jeep and into the street, rifles in hand. Ludwig turned to Gilbert and said, "Gil, you stay with the jeep. I'll check the place out."

Gilbert nodded. "Be careful, alright?"

"Yeah sure," Ludwig strode up to the door of the building and put his hand on the doorknob.

"Shoot first, ask questions later!" Gilbert called out.

Ludwig gave a thumbs-up, took a deep breath, raised his rifle, and turned the knob.

The first thing that struck him was the sheer darkness inside. The shadows were dark as night, and the thickness of the black pressed against his lungs.

The smell of the air inside was heavy, old, musty. The stale air from the dark mixed with the fresh air of the outside.

Ludwig eased the door closed behind him, enveloping himself in the shroud of the suffocating black. There was no sound. His ears were numb. Lead weighted his boots to the ground. His finger tingled where it rested against the trigger.

He took a moment to breathe before slinging his rifle over his shoulder, effectively freeing his hands to fish a flashlight out of his pocket and to draw his pistol from the holster on his hip. Ludwig gripped the flashlight between his teeth as he chambered a round, the metal _click_ echoing on the walls. He then took the flashlight from his teeth and held it in his right hand. Arms extended, with the hand holding the flashlight resting lightly over top of the hand that held his pistol, Ludwig clicked on the light.

The pale yellow beam cut easily through the inky darkness with a column of light. The beam slowly made its way around the room, revealing the room to be empty but for a handful of broken chairs and a thick layer of dust. Still no sound. There was an open doorway across the room that led to what looked like a hallway, and Ludwig watched for anything that resembled movement, but there was none. The only movement was his own, and the only sound was that of his shaky breathing. In through the nose, out through pursed lips.

When he stepped forward, the creaking of the floor beneath his feet made Ludwig freeze. Five seconds. Ten seconds. There was nothing that disrupted the silence. Ludwig resumed his journey across the room.

Through the open doorway was a narrow hall with three doors on the left side, all of which were open. To the right was a staircase.

Ludwig searched every room on the lower level, but there was the same nothingness in each of them. As he climbed the stairs, Ludwig was greeted by two doorways. One of the doors was open, the other shut. The room with the open door was empty, as expected. The door that was shut revealed a room so small, Ludwig had to stoop to avoid knocking his head on the slanted ceiling. What greeted him spread a wide grin on his face.

The room was fashioned with a threadbare mattress, a pile of thin blankets in a far corner, and a tiny window in the ceiling which let in a narrow stream of afternoon sunlight. There was nothing else in the room.

_This is exactly what we need._

-x-x-x-

"How's it look?"

Ludwig pulled the door of the building closed behind him. He squinted in the now all-too-bright light of the outdoors. "The building appears to have been cleared out a long time ago, but it's perfect for our purposes."

Gilbert nodded, stroked a finger against his chin in thought, then nodded again. "Alright, let's get them inside. The sooner they're settled, the better."

Gilbert and Ludwig ushered the girls into the building as fast and as discreetly as they could, and they were thankful that the street and nearby buildings were deserted. Or they at least looked that way, and the both of them prayed that appearances didn't deceive. A curious onlooker could inevitably sign their death certificates and put all four of them in the ground.

The youngest of the girls clung to Ludwig with all of what little strength she had as he carried her inside. The older girl held onto Gilbert's arm with both hands, her knuckles white. Ludwig led them as quickly as he could through the first room, down the hall, up the stairs, and into the tiny upper room.

"Well, this is certainly cozy," Gilbert remarked as he closed the door of the room behind him. "Heck, all it needs is a radio and it's good to go!" Ludwig rolled his eyes and tried to set the youngest girl down on the floor, but when she gripped him tighter, he settled for sitting on the bed. She proceeded to make herself comfortable on his lap.

"You know," Gilbert said as he watched the proceedings between the younger girl and Ludwig, "We never asked their names."

Ludwig thought for a moment. "You're right. We didn't."

He looked down at the girl on his lap and asked, "Quel est votre nom?"

The little girl grinned, showing off the space where her two front teeth should be. "Miriam."

Ludwig smiled broadly, then turned the question to the oldest girl, who still held Gilbert's hand. She replied with a curt, "Monika." She then added, "Et ce que vous à propos?"

Gilbert frowned. "What's she saying?"

"She's asking what our names are." Ludwig looked her in the eye and said, "Mon nom est Ludwig." Monika then looked up and waited for Gilbert's reply.

"Gilbert," he said carefully. Ludwig said that they were brothers. Monika watched him for a moment more before she did something astonishing. She smiled. It was small, nearly imperceptible, but it was a smile nonetheless. Gilbert's heart soared. He gave her hand a tiny squeeze, and she returned it. Despite the fact that neither of them could understand a word that the other said, Monika and Gilbert shared something that surpassed any language barrier: The tiniest flickers of a thing that had grown to be so rare, it had been nearly eradicated. Hope.

-x-x-x-

Gilbert and Ludwig stayed in the hiding place for their girls for a couple of hours, until the sun had nearly set. During that time, they had pulled the jeep into a more concealed location, brought up food, jackets, and other things to keep the girls warm and provided for until they would be able to come again. They had made their best attempts at cleaning the girls up and removing as much dirt and grime as they could, but it wasn't as well done as they wished. Gilbert and Ludwig sat on the bed and finger-combed the girls' hair as they sat on their feet on the floor, and the four of them whispered quietly and learned what they could about each other. Of course, it was only the important questions were asked, such as favorite colors, favorite flavors of ice cream, and favorite games. While they were discussing the cultural importance of blue ribbons as opposed to green ones, Ludwig glanced to his left and had to do a double take.

"Gil," he said, "I didn't know you could braid hair…"

Gilbert looked up from his hands, which were holding a magnificent-looking Dutch braid together against Monika's head, her brown curls spilling over his intertwined fingers and wrists. "This surprises you?" Gilbert stifled a laugh. "You have much to learn about me, little brother!" From the corner of his eye, Ludwig caught sight of Monika sitting on Gilbert's booted feet, her hands folded in her lap, with a semblance of a contented grin on her face. Ludwig couldn't help but to crack a smile as he turned back to Miriam, who had fallen asleep against his shins.

-x-x-x-

The sun had nearly set, and the time had come for Gilbert and Ludwig to be getting back. The two men talked for a moment, then sat the two girls down on the bed next to them.

"Now, what we're going to tell you both now is very important," Ludwig said, instantly switching from speaking in German for Gilbert to speaking in French for the girls. He made sure that they were both paying attention before he continued. "You must be very quiet during the day. As quiet as possible. If anyone knows that you're here, then bad men would come and…" He took a moment, rolling the words around in his head. "...And they would take you away. Bad things would happen." _No, stop sugarcoating it. They need to know. It's for their own good. _"These bad men would most likely kill you."

Miriam's eyes grew to be the size of saucers. Monika only took ahold of Miriam's tiny hand.

"That's why you must be quiet. Do you understand?" The two girls nodded. "Now, Gilbert and I, when we come to visit you, we will knock on both the front doors and on the door to your room three times slowly, then three times quickly. Like this." He demonstrated on his open palm. "This way, you'll know that it's us and not the bad men." The girls nodded again. "There's a lock on this door. Monika, I need you to make sure that the door stays locked at all times." Monika nodded solemnly. "Don't open the door to this room for anyone, not even if you think it's us, unless we specifically ask you to. This is very important. Do you understand?" The girls nodded again, and Ludwig sighed. "There's not much food here, so one of us will come and bring you more in the next day or so. You have our jackets and the blankets in case you get cold. Just… Just stay safe and stay quiet until we get back, alright?"

Monika and Miriam both jumped to their feet and wrapped their arms around both Gilbert and Ludwig. Their ears were filled with many repetitions of "Merci beaucoup", and their cheeks were covered with kisses. It was nearly impossible for them to tear themselves away.

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**Sometimes cute fluffy chapters are nice. They give some relief to both reader and writer. **

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**Much love, Harley**


	13. Sarah Jane: 14-15 July, 1944

**Hey guys! Fluff is over, time to get back to business. New territory now: A chapter all for the lovely Sarah Jane. Have at it!**

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"Honey, are you alright? You haven't eaten any of your supper. It's your favorite! I made it just for you!"

Sarah Jane sat up straighter in her chair at the dinner table and picked up her fork. "Yes momma, I'm fine. I'm just a little tired is all." Her mother frowned and glanced at her father, and Sarah Jane forked a mound of potatoes into her mouth. "See? Totally fine! By the way, the food is wonderful as always."

Sarah Jane's mother sighed and crossed her arms. "Thanks, but you don't seem fine. Something is making you ill, that I know."

Sarah Jane shrugged her shoulders and helped herself to another roll from the basket in the center of the table. "Guess I just ate something that didn't agree with me. It happens." She tore off a piece and chewed, then dipped the rest in a puddle of gravy.

"Yes…" Sarah Jane's mother watched her eat for a moment. Her voice seemed far away, like she was thinking about other things. "Yes it does…"

She blinked, then picked up the platter of meat from where it sat to her left and offered it to her husband. "More roast beef, Frank?"

-x-x-x-

The second Sarah Jane could be excused from the table, she scooped up her dishes and threw them in the sink before rushing down the hall and across the house to the bathroom that was farthest away from the kitchen. Once inside, she shut the door. She didn't want the sound of her supper being flushed down the toilet to be broadcasted through the entire house.

After a minute, her stomach settled enough for her to lean back against the tub. She brushed her hair back from her sticky forehead and rested her head between her knees.

She had put it off long enough. She had to see a doctor. Tomorrow.

There was also something else that she had been putting off all day. A letter had come in the mail for her from Alfred Jones, the Marine from the fair. The one who had fallen head-over-heels for her so quickly.

She slowly pulled the letter from the pocket of her dress and tore the envelope open. With shaking fingers, the withdrew the paper inside. It was stained and folded into a tiny square. Gingerly, she unfolded the paper and read what was written on it.

So he had made it to Europe after all, that was good.

She reached the part about how he promised to court her properly once he returned home to the States, she couldn't help but smile a little. She had to admit that Alfred was, quite frankly, adorable.

When Alfred mentioned James Smith, she thought for a moment back to about a week or so ago. She thought that she had seen something about him in the paper… Or seen his name or something… Yes, she had. In a column on the front page. The casualty list.

As she reached the end of the letter, she laid the paper down on her lap. A picture was easy. She could take care of that tomorrow. Maybe after that doctor's appointment.

Sarah Jane refolded the letter and went into her room. She was tired, and she figured that she would feel better in the morning.

She made three more trips that night to the bathroom to vomit. With every trip, the weight in her stomach grew, and the feeling of dread increased.

-x-x-x-

The waiting room was painted a sterile white, and the air that blew out from the vent above Sarah Jane's head made her shiver. She tried moving, but the polar stream of air followed her across the room from one uncomfortable plastic chair to the next. There was something about this waiting room that made her feel uneasy.

When the nurse called her name, she couldn't get out of there fast enough. However, when she was placed in an exam room in the back, the same sterile white greeted her, along with the same cold air, and the same uneasiness.

She hated this place already, and she had been inside for all of ten minutes.

A nurse came back to check her vital signs, and to ask about why she was there. Sarah Jane told her what she could, and the nurse walked out again. She waited for about ten more minutes. Bored, she picked at the paper that covered the bed she was sitting on. She looked at the posters on the wall detailing different parts of the body. The sink in the corner dripped consistently every forty-three seconds.

The door opened, and the doctor came in. Sarah Jane read on his nameplate that he was Dr. Hedgepath. He had a bald head, a white beard, and a pair of wire rimmed glasses, and he sat on a stool across from her and listened as she told him everything that she had already told the nurse earlier. The doctor furrowed his unkempt eyebrows and nodded, rubbed his beard, then said that he would need to have the nurse run some tests. After that, he left.

Sarah Jane waited another ten minutes. By now she was quite sick of that stupid dripping sink, and she was tired of reading the same posters over and over again. She then wished that she had thought to bring a book with her.

The nurse came in again, this time carrying a metal tray in her hands. There were syringes, cups, cotton balls, needles, and a bottle of alcohol on the tray. "I'm going to take some blood, and I'm going to need you to provide a urine sample." That was all she said. Sarah Jane nodded and let the nurse do her job, then she went to the bathroom. She came out and gave the nurse what she needed. She was then ushered back to her room, where she waited for another twenty minutes.

She had very nearly shut the water off for the sink out of annoyance when the door opened again. This time it was the doctor. He had a clipboard in his hand, and he closed the door behind him softly.

He asked only one question. "How old are you?"

Sarah Jane swallowed. Her throat had suddenly gone dry, and she felt like she was trying to swallow a handful of rocks. "Eighteen." She tried to swallow again, but she still felt like she was trying to swallow dirt. "Why?"

The doctor took off his glasses and looked her in the eye. "Sarah Jane, do your parents know?"

Her heart sank. "Know… Know what?" But she knew exactly what he was going to say.

"That you're pregnant."

-x-x-x-

As she walked home from the doctor's office, she felt numb. This was surely the end of everything. Her parents had always told her that if she were ever to do anything like this, they would kick her out of the house faster than she could argue. She had been so stupid… All she had wanted was to do something that _she had wanted_, but this was far from the end result that she had envisioned. Alfred had been the only one she had ever been with, and she was forced to send Matt, the sailor, away. Something just didn't feel right. The outright confidence that she had shown was nothing short of brazen, Hollywood-worthy acting. She had been faking apathy for so long that she had even believed it herself.

She had made a terrible mistake. In her family's eyes, it was a mortal sin. She would bring shame to them and to their name. They would be the family gossiped about around every dinner table. The conversation would go, "Would you pass the rolls please? Oh, and did you hear about that Elliot girl? She ran off and got herself pregnant!" That simply couldn't happen. Her family would sooner throw her out for a moment of youthful, if flawed, passion.

She had ruined her life. But it wasn't only hers on the line.

She had brought Alfred's to an end as well. That is, if he would even have anything to do with her.

She had become a Hester Prynne, and the proverbial scarlet letter would soon bare itself to every prying eye that glanced her way.

She stopped walking down the sidewalk and leaned against the side of a brick building, which one exactly, she didn't know and quite frankly didn't care. The sobs came quickly and quietly, and she slowly sank down onto the concrete, which was already warmed from sunshine.

_What have I done?_

-x-x-x-

She wrote the letter as soon as she got home.

_Alfred,_

_I'm so glad that you've made it to Europe safely! It's just as boring as normal here, so you're not missing out on anything, I can assure you. Just normal things. Oh hey, a bomber crash landed into a house in Merriam. Well, that's not exactly normal by any stretch of the imagination, but you know. Work with me here. Nothing new._

_Alfred, what in the world do you want with a picture of _me_? You gonna show me off to your war buddies? I'm not some pinup girl, you know! I'm totally kidding with you, I'm sending you the photostrip that we took at the fair with this letter. _

_I was torn about whether to tell you this or not, but I figured that it would be the right thing to do for both of our sakes. The English haven't landed in a while, and I just think that you need to know. _

_Come home soon_

_Sarah Jane_

Sarah Jane fished the photostrip from where she had stashed it in a drawer in her nightstand. Their two faces were trapped in the four frames. Her painted lips were drawn back in broad smiles. His mouth was wide with toothy grins. As she gazed at the thin glossy paper held between her fingertips, her eyes rested on the final frame at the bottom of the strip. The last frame had grown to be her favorite. In it, she was sitting to Alfred's right. He had his arms wrapped tightly around her, and he was leaned over in an attempt at sneaking a kiss. She was in mid laugh, her eyes shut, head thrown back, hair cascading over her shoulders.

She had decided that there was something magical about that one moment, captured in four white paper frames for all of eternity. As much as she loved the picture herself, she could think of nothing better than for Alfred to have it. He needed it more than she did anyway.

She folded the letter carefully and inserted it into the white envelope, addressed it, licked the stamp. She nearly slid the photostrip in, but on a whim, she turned it around to the back. Carefully she jotted down a note.

_Don't forget to come back. You promised!_

The letter fully completed now, she laid the photostrip inside of the envelope and sealed it. The mailman would come and pick the letter up tomorrow morning, and it would be inside of the mailbox, waiting. Waiting to fall into the hands of an eagerly expectant young Marine.

No one but Sarah Jane knew that that letter was sealed with a kiss.

She was quite certain that she was beginning to fall for Alfred, even though he made his bed thousands of miles and an ocean away.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! You know the drill. Reviews are wonderful, I love them, please leave one if you are so inclined. If you do, I love you. If you don't, I still love you.**

**Much love,**

**Harley**


	14. Alfred: 20 July, 1944

**Hey y'all! New chapter is ready for your enjoyment!**

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Brunner's voice boomed through the barracks. "Mail Call, boys!"

Alfred rolled over in his bed until his head stuck out into the aisle between the rows of bunks. "I honestly think that you do this earlier and earlier every day on purpose." He grinned and smacked Brunner in the back of the head playfully when he replied with a sarcastic, "Yeah, I do it just to annoy the snot out of you." He shuffled through the small pile of envelopes in his hand before he waved two of them in the air. "Jones, these are for you." Alfred held out his hand to receive them, but Brunner flicked his wrist and sent them slicing through the air so that they hit Alfred square in the chest.

"Your reflexes need work, you're slow as my grandma, God rest her soul."

"Shove off, Brunner, and go torment some poor innocent Marines down the barrack. I think they need your face to shine its radiance upon them."

Brunner playfully shook a finger at Alfred. "One of these days, your little smart mouth is gonna get you in big trouble, and someone is going to gladly r earrange your dental work for you, free of charge. Heck, may even be me." He stopped, seemed to think for a moment, then added somberly, "You know, you may just be right. I do think the brilliance of my presence is needed."

Alfred sniggered as Brunner sauntered down the empty row between bunks and rolled onto his back so that he rested comfortably on his pillow. He held the envelopes in his hand up to the light. Alfred looked at the first one and smiled softly. He would know his mother's handwriting anywhere.

Gently, he peeled the paper flap up and removed a folded up piece of paper. Once unfolded, his mother's flowy script filled his line of sight. Alfred couldn't help but smile the entire time that he read.

_My Dearest Son,_

_The world has gone on despite your absence from our home, but our world has stood still ever since you walked out of our front door. _

_The reality that you have gone on to fight the good fight still has yet to truly set in for your father and I. I know that I still half expect you to stumble down the steps each morning, but then I remember. _

_We will be alright, so don't worry about us. Everything is business as usual for everyone here, so I promise you that you aren't missing much. This is Chase county, after all. _

_I just want to say that you are becoming the young man that I knew that you would one day become, and I still can't believe that you're being the brave man that you are. _

_Your father and I are so very proud of you, and we are counting the days until you can return home to us. We will be waiting._

_Love miss you,_

_Mom_

_P.S.- I have a star in the front window just for you. Hurry back home so I can take it down, because taking it down means that you're safe and sound._

Alfred refolded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of the jacket that hung from the bed frame. He would have to write his mom back soon, he thought. She was always one to start to worry about things, even when nothing was going on exactly. He could picture her pacing the kitchen with the letter in her hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sip her cup of coffee. Back and forth. Back and forth. It always drove his father crazy when she would do that.

The second envelope now drew his attention. It was from Sarah Jane. Alfred quickly sat up in his bed and tore into the envelope. He devoured the words eagerly the first time, then slowed to take them in better the second time.

_Alfred,_

_I'm so glad that you've made it to Europe safely! It's just as boring as normal here, so you're not missing out on anything, I can assure you. Just normal things. Oh hey, a bomber crash landed into a house in Merriam. Well, that's not exactly normal by any stretch of the imagination, but you know. Work with me here. Nothing new._

Alfred shook his head. Nothing ever really happened in Chase county, and two letters now confirmed that. Minus the whole plane crash deal. That was pretty interesting, to say the least.

He continued to read.

_Alfred, what in the world do you want with a picture of _me_? You gonna show me off to your war buddies? I'm not some pinup girl, you know! I'm totally kidding with you, I'm sending you the photostrip that we took at the fair with this letter. _

Alfred looked inside of the envelope and withdrew the photo strip. He set the letter to the side and gazed at the pictures lovingly. He ran his fingertip over Sarah Jane's face in the photo. He could almost hear her laughter coming from the pictures themselves. He smiled. Their happiness was captured in these tiny frames for all of eternity.

He casually flipped the photo strip over and read the note that made his heart soar.

_Don't forget to come back. You promised!_

Alfred sighed happily. He would try, doggonit, he would try.

The rest of the letter confused him. So much so, that he called Perry over to read it and give his opinion on it.

_I was torn about whether to tell you this or not, but I figured that it would be the right thing to do for both of our sakes. The English haven't landed in a while, and I just think that you need to know. _

_Come home soon_

_Sarah Jane_

Perry wasn't too sure about the last part either, and he shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

Francis saw Perry get up to read Alfred's letter, and since he had nothing better to do, he got up to see what was going on. He leaned over Perry's shoulder and waited for a translation. When Perry gave him the French version of the problem paragraph, Francis raised his eyebrows and looked at Alfred. His grin was from ear to ear.

"What?" Alfred asked. "You know what she's talking about?"

Perry translated, and Francis nodded eagerly.

Alfred crossed his arms and leaned against the bunks behind him. "Care to explain?"

Francis looked from Perry to Alfred and back again. He spoke, then looked excitedly at Alfred.

Perry's eyes bugged out of his head. "Are you sure?" he asked Francis. Francis nodded knowingly.

"What is it?" Alfred asked. He was growing impatient.

Perry furrowed his eyebrows and took his time with his words.

"She… She's trying to tell you…"

"Tell me what? She's trying to tell me what?" Alfred was sick of all of this beating around the bush. "Spit it out already!"

Perry took a deep breath.

"She's trying to say that she's pregnant."

All noise in the barrack ceased at the word _pregnant_. Every eye was fixed on Alfred and on his reaction. Someone breathed out a low whistle.

Alfred felt the barracks spin, and he slowly sat down on his mattress. He noticed that his lips were parted somewhat. Breathing suddenly became very difficult.

A single thought ran laps through his brain.

_What have I done?_

"I… I'm going to be…" He couldn't breathe out the word. It was too big for his lips to form. The weight was too much.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the shock vanished.

He looked up at Perry. "I'm going to be a daddy." He said it quite matter-of-factly, then repeated the words, only this time with a bit more feeling. "I'm going to be a _daddy_."

Alfred looked around himself. At the barracks. At the stunned Marines that were becoming his brothers.

His voice went quiet. "I can't do this. Not now, I'm way over here."

Perry put one hand on Alfred's shoulder. "It's alright, don't worry about it yet. You have plenty of time to grapple with this. Actually, I think it would do you some good to go and take a walk. Think things over a bit."

Alfred nodded, almost in a sort of trance. He got to his feet and slowly shuffled out of the door and into the French morning sun.

-x-x-x-

Once outside, he found a large tree and sat down underneath its leaves. The air underneath was cool and green, and the view of the countryside was beautiful. A slight breeze picked up from the hills. It carried a sweetness that only the country possesses.

Alfred realized that he still had both the letter and the photo strip in his hands. He read and reread the words, but he still couldn't believe them. He was only nineteen, how could he have a child? How could he have a family? How could he support them? He was an ocean away! He was putting his life on the line! What would happen if… The unthinkable… What would happen to them then? But what if he made it home? What would he do then? He would have to scrape up the money to buy a place for the three of them to live. He would have to get a job to support them. But how much longer would this war last? How long until he could count on coming home?

Alfred put his head in his hands.

_What am I going to do?_

He thought for a moment. Then, his head snapped up.

He knew exactly what he was to do.

He was going to be a man. He was going to do what a man would do.

He was going to marry Sarah Jane the very second he set foot on American soil again.

He would provide for his little family and give them everything that they could ever need, no matter what he had to do in order to do it.

He would love his child with everything that was in him, and if he was honest with himself, he could already feel that something was stirring deep inside of himself. Something he had never felt before. Something powerful. _The love of a father._

He thought about what this meant, about being a father at such a young age. He had planned on having children at some point, but that time was presumed to be far into the future. However, he had put himself here, and he would accept the consequences of what he had done.

That little consequence was starting to grow on him though, despite not ever having met it yet, and finding out about its existence only a few minutes ago.

For some reason, his mind latched onto the image of a little pink bundle cradled in his arms. Tiny fingers wrapped around one of his own. A gentle cooing coming from brand-new lips. It was an image of his baby, his little girl, and it was perfect. Why a little girl, he didn't know. He called it instinct. Maybe something deep down knew that it would be a girl. Frankly, he didn't care how. He only smiled and drowned in the image that was now emblazoned in his mind.

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**Awww Alfred! I've been looking forward to writing this chapter, and I hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Leave a review if you'd like, I promise that it'll get freaked out over. I always get a bit too excited when I see a review. But it's nice. Have a wonderful Valentine's Day, whether you're with someone or not. If not, say I'm your valentine. I've got your back. ;) Have a wonderful day!**

**Much love and overpriced pink and red candy,**

**Harley**


	15. Francis: 20 July, 1944

**Hey guys! This one's pretty short, so sorry about that, but enjoy anyways! And hope everyone had a fantabulous Valentine's Day!**

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Francis watched Alfred drift out of the barracks, and his smile waned. _Shouldn't he be happy that he is having a… Wait… I keep forgetting that Alfred is only nineteen. He's still a child himself. A child having a child… A child fighting a man's war. _

Francis ran his fingers through his hair and slowly sat down on Alfred's bunk. "I can't imagine being in his position," he said to Perry, "Being so young and finding out that I am to become a father." Perry crossed his arms and sat down next to Francis. The others meandered over from the other side of the barracks to gather around Alfred's bunk.

"So, hold on," Brunner said, his hand raised, "Somewhere in the world, there's going to be a little Jonesey?"

"Apparently so," Perry remarked.

"Ok then, if that's the case, then who knows anything about the girl?"

The barracks were silent.

Bodnar spoke up after a moment. "Well, he never really said anything about her, did he?"

The others all shook their heads.

"Could it be that…" It was almost as if his lips didn't want to put the words into the air. "Maybe it was a one-night stand? Or… Maybe some sort of a mistake?"

The silence went from uncomfortable, to heavy, to suffocating. No one wanted to entertain the thought that Alfred, the boy that had quickly turned into the beloved 'younger brother' of the group of Marines, had gone off and gotten a girl pregnant. One-night stand, girlfriend, it didn't matter. What did matter to these men was if Alfred would own this and take responsibility for what he had done.

La Salle cleared his throat. "Nineteen years old or not, he's put some girl in an impossibly precarious situation while he is here, an ocean away. He can't be there for her. He can't provide for her." He then shrugged his shoulders. "I mean, what happens if, you know, he's killed. What happens to his child and the mother? They're not married, so she and the child get no monetary death benefits. They receive nothing. Nothing but shame and pity. And then they're forgotten. They fade into obscurity. Everyone moves on but them, because how could they?"

Francis shook his head as he heard the words whispered in his ear by Perry. Perry's translation was the only sound that could be heard.

That's when he made a decision.

Francis got up from where he was sitting on Alfred's bunk and pushed through the knot of men. He could feel their eyes on his back as he made his way across the barrack, through the door, and out into the sunshine.

He wanted to talk to Alfred about this, or at least see what his reaction was since he had left so quickly.

He didn't have to look for long. Not twenty yards from the door sat Alfred under tree. Its branches were laden with green, and Alfred's face was shaded by its leaves. There was a spot beside a protruding root that was just big enough for him to take a seat next to Alfred. He eased himself down slowly, ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed, but Francis said nothing. Alfred's eyes were closed and the ends of his lips were curled up in a slight smile. A content smile.

The two men sat together like this for many minutes. Feeling the breeze. Watching the birds flutter to and fro. Neither of them speaking to the other.

Alfred finally opened his eyes and turned to his new companion. Francis tore his gaze from the countryside that he loved so to meet Alfred's eyes. They were bright but misty. He smiled. He could hold it for only a moment before his lip began to tremble.

Francis' heart ached for Alfred, and he pulled him into a strong embrace. Alfred frantically returned it, his whole body shaking. His face hidden, the tears flowed freely.

"What on earth am I going to do?" Alfred asked between sobs. "She's there, I'm here… If I… Who's going to…?" He couldn't finish the thought. He broke off into heartrending silence.

Francis didn't know what to do other than to hold him close. Everyone in the little unit had grown to become closer than family. What one felt, they all felt. Francis wept with his brother and held him as closely as he could.

If there was anything that he could do for Alfred, he would do it without a second thought. He would be there for him in every way that he possibly could.

There was no need for a translator for that to be understood.

-x-x-x-

Francis left Alfred under the tree about a half hour later, once his sobs had quieted. He wanted to leave him alone to his thoughts some more before he returned to the rest of the men. When he opened the door of the barracks, every eye was instantly on him.

"Well… How's he taking it?" someone asked.

Perry translated.

"He's scared. Scared that he won't make it home to care for his new family. He just needs some time."

The others nodded, and the subject was dropped.

Perry handed Francis an envelope addressed to him. "This is for you."

Francis thanked him and took it. It was another update on Estelle's condition. He had arranged for biweekly updates on her status to be sent to him, but they were sent through safe passages of course. Francis ripped the envelope open and read the paper inside. She was still improving physically, but her mental status was another thing. She had yet to say a word, but if even the shadow of a man passed over her window, she was reduced to screams of terror. This had become a new development once Francis had left. It tore him apart to hear of her suffering, but there was nothing that he could do for her. Her appetite had started to improve slightly now however, so Francis was pleased.

"How's your sister?" Brunner asked. All the men knew of Estelle's plight.

"She is doing well," Francis said. "Improving every day."

He wasn't altogether lying, and the others knew it. They waited in patient silence for the full truth.

Francis sighed. "Her appetite is growing. She still screams."

The others nodded thoughtfully. Perry gave him a good-natured slap on the shoulder. "She'll come around, don't worry. Now let's hit the chow hall, I'm starved."

Everyone started to head toward the door, but Francis hung back for a moment. He folded the slip of paper up and slid it into a small box that he kept by his bunk. In the box was every update that he had gotten on Estelle's condition, along with an old photo of her that he had taken from their living room and taped to the lid of the box.

A reminder to himself that the old Estelle was somewhere, buried deep inside the new one.

That that old Estelle could come back.

Sometimes though, he couldn't convince himself that she could.

-x-x-x-

A tap on his shoulder while eating his potatoes made Francis turn around. It was Ortiz. "Bonnefoy, I need to see you once you finish, so hurry it up."

La Salle took a swig of his coffee. "What do you want with him? He was just going to listen to my story about my ex wife!"

"La Salle, if I have to hear that story about your ex wife one more time," Ortiz warned, "I'm going to find the nearest cliff and launch myself from it, and I'll be taking you with me."

Francis shoveled what little was left on his plate into his mouth, as did Perry, and the two men got to their feet to follow Ortiz out of the chow hall. Laughter chased them out, and Ortiz led the men to his office.

Once inside, Ortiz beckoned the two men to his desk, where a map was spread out over the top of it. "Here's the deal, Bonnefoy. Your job with this operation may just be the most important out of all of ours. You know that you're going to be flying us in, and I wanted to go over details with you."

Once Perry translated, Francis nodded and pulled up a chair.

For an hour, the men poured over the map, plans, and every detail. If everything worked out, the flight in and out would go off without a hitch. Francis would fly in, the men would drop over the DZ, Francis would fly out and back to the airfield to be debriefed.

Simple and painless. He could do it in his sleep.

If they didn't get behind, he'd be home for breakfast.

Francis smiled and assured Ortiz that he would perform his duties to the best of his ability, and that he hoped that he could make Ortiz proud.

Ortiz slapped him on the arm. "Kid, you already have."

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**Again, sorry so short. Kind of a filler. But thanks for reading, and feel free to review!**

**Love as always,**

**Harley**


	16. Ludwig: 3 July, 1944

**Hey guys! I'm gonna make this intro short and sweet. New chapter! Enjoy! Reviews are much appreciated. Thanks for reading! Love all of you guys!**

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"Bruder, wake up."

Ludwig groaned and rolled over in his bed. His words were slurred together from sleep. "Go away.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Seriously, get up."

"Gil, go away. It's got to be…" He pulled his arm out from under the blanket and looked at his watch through one half closed eye. "...three in the morning. Tonight was a rough night. Leave me alone." He slammed his head back down onto the pillow.

"Ludwig, I know you're probably exhausted, but you need to know this. It's important."

"What on God's green earth could possibly be-"

"Diekmann is dead."

Ludwig frowned and sat up in his bed. The cold early morning air sent a chill through his body. He pushed his messy hair out of his eyes. "What?"

"He took half the division to Normandy. Nearly all of them are either dead or captured, but it's been confirmed that Diekmann is dead."

Ludwig eyed Gilbert. He was still in his uniform. "You had better give me a good reason why this couldn't have waited until the morning."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Your brain always took longer to wake up than the rest of you." Ludwig crossed his arms over his bare chest and raised an eyebrow, but Gilbert continued. "Half of our division is wiped out. We're losing Normandy. Our armies are being pushed back away from the coast. Which means…"

Ludwig thought for a second, then finally understood. "They're going to be sending us as reinforcements. To secure the areas surrounding Normandy."

"Ding! We have a winner!" Gilbert was less than thrilled, despite the sarcastic dips and flips of his voice. His lips were drawn across his face in a thin, pale line. "Which leaves one final dilemma."

Ludwig sighed. "The girls."

"Yes." Gilbert sat on the edge of Ludwig's bed. "What happens when we get shipped off? They've got no one to care for them, no where to go. No place is safe."

Ludwig's head fell into his hands. Their system had been working flawlessly for nearly three weeks now. At least one of them would visit the girls after dark had fallen. They would bring food, extra clothing, anything that they could need or had asked for. Usually whoever was bringing the supplies would stay for up to an hour talking, playing quiet games, or relaxing together. Recently however, within the last week or so, Miriam had started to have nightmares. She would wake up screaming and crying for her mother, and it had gotten to the point that Monika couldn't make her settle down and be quiet. There was very nearly a dangerous situation where they could have been discovered, but nothing ever came of it. Since Monika had told Ludwig and Gilbert what was going on and because Miriam seemed to take a special liking toward him, Ludwig had taken it upon himself to stay with the girls until Miriam fell asleep. He would not leave until the usual time for Miriam's nightmare came. When she awoke, he would quickly take her up into his arms and calm her down. Some nights were harder than others, but he would do everything in his power to get her back to sleep. Some nights, all it took was a simple reassurance that he was here, and her eyes would flutter closed almost as quickly as they had flown open. Some nights he would sing, and his smooth baritone voice would rumble deep in his chest as loud as he dared, and she would rest her head against his heart and not stir again. Monika usually would stay up to listen to Ludwig sing, and she would fall asleep with a smile on her face that was matched only when she saw Gilbert. She was very fond of him, just as Miriam was fond of Ludwig. It had grown apparent that the girls were growing to love Ludwig and Gilbert, their unforeseen saviors. That love was returned in abundance. On nights like tonight, when getting Miriam asleep took forever, that love was made apparent in action. For hours, Ludwig had paced the space of the tiny upstairs room, humming every tune he could possibly remember or recall, rocking her slowly in his arms until he very nearly fell asleep on his feet. At about two in the morning, after rocking her for nearly four hours, Ludwig realized that he had been standing in the exact same spot for the past fifteen minutes. That's when he decided that it was probably a good time to go to bed. Thankfully, Miriam was finally asleep. So, like every night, he eased her under the covers of the tiny bed beside her sister, drew the covers up to her chin, kissed both girls gingerly on the foreheads, and slipped out of the hiding place out into the night. He crashed into his bed at two-thirty, and was shaken awake by his brother a quick half hour later.

With them gone, who was going to quiet Miriam when her nightmares plagued her? Who would quiet her? Who would feed them? Who would protect them?

No one would, because no one knew of their existence besides them.

Being shipped off would be a death sentence for their beloved girls.

Ludwig was not about to accept this, and neither was Gilbert.

The familiar question was raised once again: What are we going to do?

-x-x-x-

Once Gilbert had left, Ludwig lay awake deep in thought. Different random memories jumped into his head, keeping sleep far from him despite his exhaustion.

"What's that?" Monika asked, pointing to the paper in Ludwig's hand.

"It's a letter from my fianc-well, she was my fiancee. She sent this back to me." Ludwig held up the ring that he had drawn from his pocket and handed it to her to inspect. "She said that I didn't love her enough, and that she wasn't going to wait for me to realize that anymore."

"But do you still love her?"

Ludwig laced his fingers together and took a deep breath. "Yes, I do."

Monika ran her finger over the smooth gold band and over the crystal clear diamond in its setting, then slipped it on her own finger. It was enormous for her, and both she and Ludwig laughed. "What's her name?" she asked as she handed the ring back to Ludwig. "Her name is Eva," Ludwig replied.

"Have you tried writing to her? I read that in a book once. The man wrote to his girl every day, and he won her back. You should do that!"

Ludwig smiled. "I've tried, but I never knew what to write, so I could never send anything to her."

Monika frowned and crossed her slender arms. "That's not a good excuse!" She then yanked Ludwig's notepad and pen from his jacket pocket, flipped to a blank page, and shoved the notepad into Ludwig's chest. "Now. Write. I'll help you. After all, I'm a girl. I know what girls like."

Ludwig raised and eyebrow, then spread his arms and dipped his head in a bow. "Yes ma'am!"

Every night, they wrote a new letter together. Every morning, Ludwig would send the letter to Eva in Berlin. Every night, he would have to report the news to Monika that there was no reply.

Ludwig felt inside his trouser pocket, and the newest letter's paper crinkled at his touch. He wished that Eva would write back at least once. It would make Monika so happy. But of course, he wanted to hear from her. He still loved her, but after her letter and the time away, he was starting to drift away. Someone new was slowly but surely filling her place in his heart. Well, more accurately, two someones.

They were both snuggled up against him, Monika on his left, Miriam on his right. He was halfway through a story that he was making up for their amusement. The prince, in search of the lost princess, had gotten himself lost in the forest and managed to fall into an abandoned well. Ludwig's high-voiced impression of the prince sent the girls into a fit of smothered giggles.

Ludwig smiled at the memory. That story had turned out to be the girls' favorite. He ended up telling it every night for a week.

Gilbert had taken the night once, and when Ludwig didn't see his brother in his room, Ludwig rushed over to the house. He climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, and when he opened the door, he found Gilbert, Miriam, and Monika asleep together in a pile, Monika snuggled up under the crook of Gilbert's arm. Miriam's head was resting on Gilbert's stomach, and Gilbert's mouth hung open in mid snore. My idiot brother is going to get us all found out, Ludwig had thought, but do the girls love him or what?

Ludwig gave Gilbert a sound tongue lashing for falling asleep and taking the risk of not only the girls being exposed, but himself as well. Gilbert apologized and promised that it would never happen again.

Ludwig's mind wandered in the dark, dredging up memories from every part of his mind. He thought about what he was doing now for Miriam and Monika, and what he had done before.

He was a Nazi. That's how everyone saw him, that's what his uniform said. His actions had fit the bill, that is until June tenth. That's when he saw what countless crimes he had committed against hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocents, all in the name of the Führer. That's when he saw the blood on his hands that he could never hope to remove. The very least he could do would be to save these two.

Sometime before the sun rose, Ludwig drifted off to sleep. He didn't dream, and the sleep felt as if a blanket was laid overtop of him. His limbs melted into the mattress under him. His eyelids slid down heavily. He couldn't remember ever being so tired…

-x-x-x-

"Ludwig! Get up!"

Ludwig opened one eye. Bright sunlight from the window was eclipsed by the distinctive shape of a man.

"Gilbert, I have threatened to kill you many times, but this time I mean it."

"No really, get up. The brass called a meeting, it starts in five minutes. I suggest you get yourself out of this bed right now."

Ludwig checked his watch, and his eyes sprang open. He launched out of bed, grabbed his shoes, and started hopping around the room on one leg while he pulled a boot onto the other leg. "Gil!"

"I've got you!" Gilbert flung a shirt to his brother, who caught it and yanked it over his head. "Boot coming your way!" Gilbert tossed Ludwig's other boot to him, and he slipped it onto his foot. Gilbert picked up the uniform jacket, rubbed the shiny buttons with his sleeve, and grabbed Ludwig's cap, shined the silver totenkopf, and handed both to his brother. Ludwig had just finished running a comb through his bedhead, and once he slipped his jacket on his shoulders and adjusted his cap on his head, he looked as perfectly put together as anyone.

"Alright prettyboy, get out of here before someone finds out you've been sleeping in."

"As if you have room to talk, you dummkopf!"

The two men's laughter rang through the hall as they made their way to the meeting.

-x-x-x-

"You have all probably heard the news by now," announced Otto Kahn, Diekmann's second in command, clearly from where he stood at the head of the table once all of the officers in the room had made themselves comfortable and were settled, "Adolf Diekmann is dead. The half of the division that he took with him to Normandy is nearly all either dead or captured."

The room was silent. No one wanted to breathe. No one could.

Khan cleared his throat, then took a sip of water from a glass by his hand. He straightened his jacket with a quick tug and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He swallowed, breathed, and spoke.

"The fighting with the Allied forces is brutal at this point in the war, especially in the areas surrounding Normandy. Half of our division was wiped out in a matter of weeks. We are next in line to be called up as reinforcements. What this means for you, as officers, is that you need to prepare your men to march at any time. As soon as the order comes down, we march out of here." He took a moment to gather his words.

"No one-" The words caught in his throat. He paused, then started to speak again. His voice was lowered, and it was soft and emotional. "No one has come back from that front. I would suggest..." He took a breath. "I would suggest getting your affairs in order. Be prepared for the worst."

The room took a collective breath. Every heart dropped. All thoughts went to the most important person in every soldier's mind.

Ludwig's mind jumped straight to the man sitting beside him. His brother. It then flew to a small upstairs room about fifteen minutes' drive from here, and to the two young invisible occupants.

-x-x-x-

Afterwards, as Ludwig and Gilbert made their way back from the meeting, there was no laughter on either of their lips. Gilbert's suspicions had been confirmed. The rest of Ludwig and Gilbert's division would be sent to the front sometime within the next month, most likely very soon. They were all to be ready to move out at any time. Everyone in the meeting was somber, but none more so than the Beilschmidt brothers. Their fears were slowly becoming reality, and the risk of exposure of their two little secrets was growing every day.

The fact was that they were going to leave their girls. The question was when, and what their precious girls were to do when they were gone.

And what was going to happen if they never came back.


	17. Ludwig: 20-21 July, 1944

**New chapter, y'all! We're currently experiencing the Snowpocalypse 2015 where I live, so everyone is living on milk sandwiches right now. I'm just watching the pretty white stuff, drinking my tea, and pouring my heart out for you lovely readers. I do hope you enjoy the fruits of this snowstorm.**

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The air was cool with the darkness of night. Gilbert and Ludwig had both been away preparing their men for what lay ahead, and this was the first time they had been able to have a moment alone together all day. They leaned against the railing of a bridge only a short ten minute's walk away from where they were staying. The metal rail twisted up from the stone beneath their feet. The river, inky black, churned thick beneath their feet. In the starlight, the water glistened sickeningly, as if it were a river of oil running under the bridge. Minutes passed in silence.

Ludwig sighed and removed his cap. A slight breeze had picked up, and the sweat on his brow felt cool against his skin. The silence between them was heavy.

He asked the question that had been digging in his mind all day long: "What do you want me to do?"

Gilbert didn't reply immediately. He knew exactly what his brother was asking, but answering gave it a haunting finality. Asking the question itself seemed almost to be a taboo in his mind, but the question had to be asked nonetheless. He listened to the thick sloshing of the water below for nearly a full minute before he had chosen his words properly.

"There's no one to write to for me. Mom and Dad are dead, I have no girlfriend. There's no one left that I care about enough to tell, and there's no one that cares enough about me to want to know." He paused to wring his hands together. "There's no one that gives two craps about whether I'm dead or not. No one..." He turned to face Ludwig. His pink eyes were soft, and sparkled with emotion. "...except for you."

Ludwig's heart felt as if it were being squeezed out of his chest. A sad smile tugged at his lips. "I'm not the only one. Monika loves you."

It was the first time either of them had actually expressed the fact that the girls had preferences when it came to either of them. They both knew of course, but they just hadn't said anything about it. Monika had grown incredibly close to Gilbert over the course of the weeks that they had been hiding the girls. The same for Miriam and Ludwig, only Ludwig sensed that since Monika was older, and because she had a greater understanding of what he and his brother were doing for them, she felt a stronger love toward Gilbert than Miriam could know to express.

Gilbert smiled proudly. "Ja, I know. She's a good kid." He looked back out at the oily river. "Good kid…" He stood in thought for a moment before turning the question to Ludwig. "What about you? What do you want me to do?"

It was now Ludwig's turn to gather his thoughts. In that small question, there were so many possible answers to be had. Who to write, who to send belongings to, who to write your eulogy.

"I'd like you to tell Eva. I know she broke it off with me, but besides you, she's really all I've got. As far as stuff goes, take what you want and if there's anything else then send it to her, she can do what she wants with it. It won't be doing me any more good anyhow."

Gilbert nodded, and Ludwig continued. "As far as the girls go, do your best to explain it to Miriam in a way that she can maybe understand. Monika will get it, but do your best with Miriam."

Ludwig picked at a piece of paint that was flaking off of the iron rail, then asked a question that was even more pressing. "What do the girls do if…" His voice fell off into nothingness. He didn't want to say, _What do the girls do if we both end up dead?_

Gilbert straightened his back and adjusted his cap. "Well… They need some place that they can go that will support them until the war ends."

Ludwig nodded. "The question is who will take in a pair of orphaned Jewish girls?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Can't trust anyone around here, the place is crawling with Nazis. They'd get turned in in a heartbeat. We have to find someone that we can trust…" He stopped mid sentence, seemingly halted by a thought. "Wait a second…"

Ludwig raised an eyebrow. "You have an idea?"

Gilbert thought for a few moments more, then suddenly snapped his fingers. "I've got it! Nuns!"

Ludwig frowned. "_That's _your idea? What on earth do nuns have to do with anything?"

Gilbert's grin spread from ear to ear. "Don't you get it? _Nuns! _It's genius, if I do say so myself."

Ludwig crossed his arms. "No, I don't get it. What are the nuns going to do, throw Holy Water at the Gestapo?"

"You still don't get it," Gilbert sighed, clearly exasperated. "Nuns. We take them to a convent." Ludwig was starting to understand now, and for once, it wasn't such a bad idea. Gilbert continued once he was sure Ludwig was following. "I mean, wouldn't a convent have to take them? Or at least until one of us gets back?" Ludwig thought the option out for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. We can take them to a convent right before we leave." Ludwig smiled. "That's actually a pretty good idea, Gil. It's a first."

"Halt die Klappe!" Gilbert laughed, and for the first time that day, Ludwig allowed himself to laugh along with him.

-x-x-x-

The next morning, Gilbert drove the jeep to the house where the girls were. He parked it in the same hidden spot as normal, an empty barn-turned-garage that was out of sight of anyone. It was only a short walk through a couple of alleyways in order to get from the garage to the house where Monika and Miriam were hidden. As always, Gilbert stole from the alley to the door of the house and slipped inside. There, he made sure that no one had seen him enter the house. And, as always, there was no one.

Every time he entered the house, he would check the downstairs to ensure that it was deserted. This time was no different. He stalked through the house, pistol drawn and finger resting easily on the trigger, ready to shoot anyone who posed a threat to his girls. He had always had a sort of "shoot first, ask questions later" attitude, but once he and his brother had taken over the care of Monika and Miriam, he truly adopted the moniker and took it to heart. So far, he had had no confrontations wherein he had to employ this school of thought, but that didn't matter to him. At any time of the night or day, he was ready to challenge anyone who threatened the safety of his girls. He didn't care if it was the Führer himself who walked through the door. If anyone wanted to get to his girls, they would have to step over his own dead body to do so.

This was how much he loved Monika and Miriam. To Gilbert, they were his own daughters, and he treated and protected them as such.

Once Gilbert had assured himself that the downstairs level of the house was empty, he slipped upstairs, careful to avoid any of the especially creaky steps. He checked each room and closet upstairs for anyone, and as always, there was no sign of anyone. Gilbert was pleased, and he holstered his pistol and knocked on the door of the room where the girls were hidden. "It's Gilbert," he called softly, "Open the door."

A pause followed by soft thumping noises could be heard through the door, then Gilbert heard the sound of a metal latch being drawn back on the other side. The door creaked open to reveal Monika's beaming face. "Well good morning! I see we're all smiles today!" Monika giggled and nodded, then opened the door wide so that Gilbert could come in. He glanced behind him to make sure there was still no one, then went into the room. He shut the door once he was inside, and then drew the latch again.

Miriam came up and tugged at his pants leg. One hand was behind her back, hiding something. Gilbert dropped down to one knee and asked, "What can I do for you, mademoiselle?" The two girls giggled at his butchering of the pronunciation of the French word, but they knew that he was trying very hard to learn as much of their language as he could. He didn't think he was doing half so badly himself.

Miriam pulled out from behind her back the thing that she was hiding from Gilbert's view: A picture, drawn and colored by her. It was crude but endearing, a strange mixture of qualities that can only be achieved by a child's hands. Drawn on the crumpled up paper were four figures, two big and two small, standing on a green hill. All four figures were holding hands in a line. Miriam pointed to each as she named them.

"C'est vous, c'est Ludwig, c'est moi, et c'est Monika."

She then handed the picture to Gilbert and stood back to watch his reaction. Gilbert's heart swelled with pride, warmth, and love. He smiled so widely that his cheeks hurt, and he quickly wrapped Miriam in a tight bear hug that made her laugh. "It's beautiful," he remarked, "Thank you! I'll show it to Ludwig when I see him again."

Once Gilbert had unentangled himself from Miriam, which was no small task, Monika stepped up. In her hand, she held a folded up piece of paper. She turned it over in her hand a few times, seemingly debating whether to surrender it or not. After a moment, she tentatively handed it to Gilbert with a slight smile. Gilbert gently took the paper and drew it close. He slowly unfolded it, and what he saw welled up tears in his eyes.

It was a drawing of two people locked in an embrace. One a man, the other a young girl. The lines were shaky, and the details drawn with an uncertain hand, but Gilbert knew what the drawing was of right away. The man with the white hair and the Nazi uniform was clearly himself, while the young girl with the curly dark locks braided behind her head was undoubtedly Monika. 'Gilbert''s arms were wrapped tightly around 'Monika', the smiles on their faces radiant. Gilbert drank the vibrant colors and the tenderness of the picture in, but it was hard to do so. His vision had gone too blurry to see the lines.

Saltwater spilled over his lashes and rolled down his cheeks in small rivulets. He couldn't speak. A lump had formed in his throat, strangling his words. Unable to voice the incredible emotions boiling inside of his heart, he pulled Monika close to himself and wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back with as much strength as she could muster. He stroked her hair with one hand and kissed her head, but it was the kiss on his cheek that she offered in return which devastated his heart, shattering it into a thousand jagged pieces.

How on earth could he possibly tell her that he was going away?

How could he explain to these beautiful, precious girls that he treasured more than his own life that their protectors were leaving, and may never return?

-x-x-x-

He had both of the girls sit down next to him on the tiny bed, one on either side of him. Miriam sat crosslegged on his left, Monika straight-backed on his right. He held their slender hands in his own large and rough ones, and he spoke softly and slowly in what little French he had picked up over his time with them.

"Ludwig and I," he started out, "are going to have to leave soon. We don't know when we will leave, but we will not be able to take care of you when we are away." He paused to let his words sink in as best they could. Miriam started to sniffle and crawled into Gilbert's lap for comfort, which he more than happily provided. Monika only sat in open-mouthed shock.

Gilbert continued, although with increasing pain to himself with every word. "If…" He took a second to gather his scattered thoughts. "If there was anything that we could do to stay, we would do it. We have tried everything we know, but we cannot stay. If we stay, the bad men will find you and take you away from us." He looked both girls in the eyes. "Do you understand?" Miriam cried softly into Gilbert's chest. Monika bit her quivering lip and swallowed back tears of her own.

"This is why…" _God forgive me for what I'm about to say, _Gilbert thought, "This is why tomorrow we are taking you to a nearby church to hide until we come back for you. The nuns there will take good care of you, and teach you things like how to read and write and do arithmetic. Hopefully you won't have to stay for long, and that one or both of us will come to take you home very soon." Monika finally let the tears spill from her eyes, and she leaned into Gilbert's shoulder heavily, sobbing quietly. Gilbert's silent tears fell like rain, for what he was having to do and for the pain that he was causing two of the only three things that he loved in this world.

Monika shoved the next sentence out between her sobs. "When… Do we… Go away?"

Gilbert looked up to the ceiling, then grimaced with the word: "Tomorrow." He then laid his head in his free hand and leaned forward as he was unable to continue to 'play strong'. His entire body shook with agony and the gravity of what must be done. He wept more bitterly than he had ever wept in his entire life. The very breath was ripped from his lungs when he felt two small bodies encircle their arms around him in an attempt to comfort him and drive this sorrow away.

Monika leaned over and whispered gently, although shakily, in Gilbert's ear. "Will you stay with us tonight, then?"

Gilbert could only nod and clutch Monika's hand as if it were his lifeline, and he was drowning in a raging sea.

* * *

**Poor Gil. It's okay baby, let me hug you too. **

**Thanks for reading, loves! Reviews are greatly appreciated! If you are in the path of this big snowstorm, stay warm and _please _be careful out there! **

**Much love,**

**Harley**


	18. Ludwig: 22 July, 1944

**Two updates in two days! I am on FIRE this week! The snow day had a lot to do with it, but that aside, I do hope you enjoy.**

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The sun streamed into Ludwig's room and bathed him in its warm light. He lay in his bed fast asleep, completely relaxed for the first time in months. The sheets were cool against his skin. His blond hair stuck out in every direction on the pillowcase. His breaths were deep, even. His bare chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. The window was cracked open, and a sweet breeze wafted into the room. Ludwig was in a sweet and dreamless sleep, oblivious to everything outside of his pleasantly blank mind. Sleep was a beautiful thing indeed.

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock on Ludwig's bedside table dragged him from this rare moment of peace. He groaned irritatedly and slammed his fist on the top of the clock. The screeching of the clock ceased immediately. His arm fell limply over the side of the bed, and he sighed heavily into the pillow.

"I hate mornings," Ludwig growled. He flung the bedclothes to the side and rolled out of his bed. The floor was cool against his bare feet. He shuffled across the bedroom and pulled his uniform out of the closet. He went through the motions of dressing with his eyes half closed with sleep. A button here, a zipper there, fingers combed through mussed hair. He left his room to cross the hall and wake up his brother, who always had issues with waking up on time. However, he knew that Gilbert would need some help pulling himself out of bed this morning.

Ludwig knew he couldn't possibly be up by now. After all, he had taken the night with the girls for Ludwig. For this, he was extremely grateful. Last night was some of the best sleep that he had gotten in… Well, he couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well. His brother had done him a great service, but he wished that he could have been there still. They were going to take the girls to the convent tonight, just after sunset. Ludwig was a little jealous that Gilbert got the final night, but it was alright. He hadn't had as much time with the girls as he had, so he didn't mind all that much.

Ludwig's jacket was still half open and flapping to the side with each step, but he was still slow with sleep, so he didn't care. He rapped heavily on the door. He called loudly so that even through his sleep, Gilbert would be able to hear. "Wake up lazy, you're going to be late!"

There was no answer. Ludwig rolled his eyes and called again. "Hey, dummkopf, get up! I'm not about to wait for you for two hours, I've got things to do and so do you."

Still, no answer. Confused, Ludwig put an ear to the door and strained to listen for anything on the other side. The only sound was the muffled ringing of the alarm clock. There were no stirrings or footsteps, nothing but the constant ringing.

_My brother has got to be deaf, _he thought to himself. "Hey," he called louder, "Do you hear that alarm or are your ears full of cotton? Get up!"

Nothing. Ludwig frowned. This wasn't normal. Something was wrong.

Ludwig banged on the door with his fist. "Gilbert, open the door!"

Still nothing.

Ludwig pounded both of his fists against the wood of the door until his skin flushed red. "Gilbert, this isn't funny! If you're in there, you had better open this door right now!"

The beeping of the alarm continued, undaunted by Ludwig's growing rage.

Ludwig bit his lip, took a quick glance around the hall to make sure he was alone, and faced the door again. He squared himself up in front of the door, balled up his fists, took a deep breath. With a loud grunt, he kicked his foot up and slammed it against the door. The doorframe splintered and gave way, and the door swung open to reveal something that made Ludwig curse in fear.

The room was untouched. The bed was made, bags in the corner, alarm blaring incessantly. Gilbert had not slept here last night.

Ludwig took one look at the state of the room and stormed out, down the hall, and out of the hotel. He made a beeline for his jeep. Once he slid into the drivers seat, he shoved his keys into the ignition and started the engine. He pulled out of the parking area quickly, then drove as fast as he dared toward the house where the girls were hidden.

_My idiot brother has done it again. I can't believe he stayed there again, after I expressly told him to be careful not to fall asleep again! Putting everyone in danger… He had better hope that I find him before anyone else does, or I swear, I'll kill him myself._

-x-x-x-

Gilbert rolled over to his other side. He was slowly waking up after a long night. The floorboards were cold and hard, and his back was sore. A blanket ended up over him somehow, he couldn't remember how or when it got there. He was stiff, oh so very stiff.

A quiet groan escaped his lips when he rolled onto his back. _Note to self: Don't ever sleep on the floor again. _He sleepily rubbed his palms over his face, then let his arms fall back down onto the floor with a thud. He lay there with his eyes closed, still half asleep. A soft bump near his head made him crack one eye open. It was Monika, and she had just jumped out of bed.

"Hey there," Gilbert muttered. Monika smiled and ruffled Gilbert's hair with her bare foot. He playfully smacked her foot away with one hand, and she giggled as she crossed the room toward the window that he had covered with a sack back when they had first started using the house as a hiding place. She took a finger and peeked out of the corner of the makeshift curtain. Golden sunlight covered her face, and Gilbert frowned. _Don't tell me that I've overslept again!_

"What time is it?" he asked. His words still slurred together, and he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Monika replaced the curtain and replied, "Probably eight. Maybe later."

Gilbert muttered a curse under his breath, then quickly added to Monika, "Don't repeat that." She giggled and sat down under the window sill, legs crossed underneath her sky blue nightgown. Gilbert smiled. He remembered when he had bought that. The woman who sold it to him remarked about how beautiful his child must be, and how lucky his wife was to have such a caring and patriotic man such as himself for a husband, and that he was so handsome to boot. Although he hadn't acted like it, Gilbert was thoroughly embarrassed, and left the shop the second he had payed for the clothes. He could laugh about it now, and it was just another opportunity to take himself just a little bit less seriously. Not that he took himself very seriously in the first place anyway.

Once he spotted his wadded up uniform jacket behind him, he shook it out and slipped it on. It was a little wrinkled from being used as a pillow all night long, but that was the least of Gilbert's worries right now. He glanced over at the bed to his right. Miriam was still fast asleep.

Gilbert redirected his attention back to dressing, then shook his head. _Ludwig is going to kill me,_ he thought over and over. _I can't believe that I slept over here again and put everyone in… _

Monika was looking out the window again. She was frowning at something outside.

"What is it?" Gilbert asked as he stood to his feet and started to slip his boots on.

"I don't know," Monika said. "Some weird sound down the street."

Gilbert furrowed his brow and crossed the room. He stood just behind Monika, one hand on top of her hair, and looked out of the window himself. He listened intently. For a moment, nothing. Then he heard it.

All of the blood instantly drained from his face.

He would know that sound anywhere.

It was the sound that he had been dreading.

Gilbert crossed the room in two steps. As he shook Miriam awake, he spoke quickly to Monika over his shoulder. "Put your shoes on, we're leaving now!" Monika, now terrified at Gilbert's voice, obeyed. "What's going on?" Monika asked. Gilbert shoved Miriam's shoes onto her feet for her, and she, upon seeing the panic in Gilbert's eyes, began to cry. He hastily kissed her on the head and moved on to throwing everything that the girls owned onto a sheet. He then tied the corners into a knot, making a quick bundle. "Gilbert! What's going on!" Monika's voice was strong, but shook out of fear. "Tell me!"

Gilbert took a moment to breathe and gather his scattered thoughts. "That sound you hear? Those are jeeps. And they're coming this way filled with the bad men I was talking about last night, now do as I say. You and your sister will hide under the bed. You make no sound, no matter what. Someone comes up here, you don't make any noise. Don't come out until I come for you, and only then. Do you hear me?"

Monika's eyes went as wide as saucers, then hardened when she looked to her crying sister. She looked Gilbert in the eyes and nodded. "I understand." She gave Gilbert a quick, strong hug, which he returned desperately, and went to her sister. She helped her whimpering sister get off the bed and onto the floor, then she took the bundle from Gilbert's hand. He spun around and stood by the door, listening.

Everything in the room was quiet. Even Miriam had gone silent. The air was taught with fear. No one breathed.

Gilbert could only hear two things. The sound of his pounding heart, and the sound of the jeeps.

The rumblings of the motors grew louder. They were coming closer. Gilbert's heart raced faster and faster until he knew that it would tear out of his chest at any second.

He could hear the jeeps drive right next to the house. _Please keep going, please keep going, please keep going, _he prayed. He strained his ears to hear. He stared through the closed wooden door at where the front entrance would be, at the bottom of the stairs.

The engines were just underneath them. Gilbert's breath caught in his throat. _Please keep going, please keep going, please..._

The engine sounds died.

Muffled German voices took the places of the roar of the jeeps.

They were on the street, at the very stoop of the house.

_Keep walking, keep walking, walk away from here, please… _

The creak of the front door. Footsteps. The voices were clear and loud. "Search the house!" they called. Gilbert couldn't tell how many there were, but there were at least three as far as he could tell.

He looked back behind him. The girls were safely hidden under the bed away from any prying German eyes.

He faced the door.

He took a deep breath through his nose.

He drew his pistol from its holster on his hip and held it loosely in his right hand by his side.

He clenched his jaw.

_Sorry, Ludwig._

Gilbert Beilschmidt put his hand onto the knob, turned it, and slowly opened the door.

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**Oh my gosh, my heart was pounding writing this. Still is I think. I can't deal. This is unhealthy. Ugh. Someone help me. **

**Thanks for reading, leave a review if your heart is so inclined, and sorrynotsorry for the cliffhanger.**

**What will happen next? Tune in next update to maybe find out, maybe not. You never know with me. **

**UNTIL NEXT TIME, this is where I leave you.**

**Much love as always,**

**Harley**


	19. Adeline: 23 July, 1944

**Hey guys! Sorry about the cliffhanger last chapter, but it had to be done. Tis the curse. Oh well. Here's the next chapter! Thanks for the reviews that were left on the last chapter, they made me have little freakouts in some funny places. Haha y'all are awesome. You're all going to love what I have in store later on. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!**

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Adeline sat on a wooden stool in the corner of Estelle Bonnefoy's room. She had taken to doing this during the break in her shift. She would get a cup of coffee from the tiny break room, maybe snatch a croissant from a plate on the counter. Estelle's room was only a few second's walk from that break room, and she would sit in the corner and watch her as she sipped her coffee and nibbled on whatever she had managed to find. Estelle never acknowledged her presence, and Adeline never pressed her.

Every day that she was around her, her heart ached. For Estelle. For Francis, wherever he was. She hated to admit it even to herself, but her heart ached for her own selfishness as well.

She replayed that moment at the post office over and over again in her mind. She could have turned and walked out and everything would be fine. She could have crumpled the letter up in her fist and never dropped it in the slot at all. She never should have even entertained the thought of writing that letter in the first place. How could she have betrayed the one man in the world that loved her no matter what?

Well, she had ruined that for sure.

If she hadn't signed his name on a bullet by now, then there was no possible way that he would ever forgive her. That is if he could even bring himself to look at her face.

She despised herself.

If he was still alive, and she somehow managed to find him again… She would never be able to make up for what she had done. Not if she spent the rest of her life saying how sorry she was. Not if she filled every book on the planet with "Forgive me"s. Francis would never forgive her. Not even God Himself would stoop so low.

She had brought all of this on herself, that she knew, and she welcomed the torture that it doled out on her with open arms.

She deserved every sleepless night, every stabbing pain in her heart, every tear she sobbed over her betrayal.

Oh yes, did she ever deserve it.

Many times she wondered if there was any possible way for her to take it all back. Sign some form saying that she made a mistake. Maybe she could talk to someone and get everything reversed. Maybe the letter somehow got itself lost in the mail. That was a real possibility. After all, France was in chaos. The postal system was not high on the list of Nazi priorities at the moment.

Maybe he was still alive? There was always hope that that was the case. Francis wasn't suspected of anything as far as she knew, until she sent that heinous letter. If he was alive, he would have to come back. He couldn't very well leave his sister here alone, could he? No, Francis loved her too much. He would do everything in his power to come back to her, that Adeline knew. It was the only thing that she was certain of now.

There was a knock at the door of the hospital room. Adeline was startled and wrenched from her thoughts, and she stood up to answer the knocking. She slowly opened the door, but only just wide enough so that her body still blocked the entrance to the room.

"Yes?" she asked the tall, handsome, yet rough-looking man standing in the hall before her. He had a head full of thick dark hair that was brushed back, broad shoulders that were covered with a canvas jacket that was stained in places and springing up holes everywhere. He had a nice face that contrasted with his worn clothes. Despite his apparent youth, he had fine creases in the corners of his eyes from years of smiles and laughter. He smiled pleasantly when Adeline opened the door. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes mademoiselle," the man said, "You can." He tried to peer around Adeline's shoulder and into the room. "Is this where Estelle Bonnefoy is being cared for?"

Adeline shifted her weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably to block the stranger's view. "That's none of your business," she remarked, now slightly wary. Nothing good ever came of strangers asking about a rape victim, especially one that survived a beating that should have killed her. One could never tell who was out to do someone else harm, especially these days. _You can't trust anyone, _she thought, and instantly shuddered at her own realization. The irony of it all.

The man frowned, and he looked almost slightly offended at her reply. "Actually, it is my business."

Now Adeline was getting nervous. She put a hand up against the door, ready to slam it shut in this stranger's face. She glanced out at the hall, which was, of course, conveniently empty. _Where is anyone when you need them? _she thought. _Mon Dieu, I wish I wasn't alone… _She took a moment to calm her mind and she steadied her voice before she replied. "Well if it is your business after all, what's your name?"

The stranger drew his mouth taut into a line across his face. The smile faded from his eyes. He glanced around the hall. Seeing no one, he turned his gaze back to Adeline. His voice dropped to a grumble in the back of his throat that was nearly impossible for Adeline to understand. "My name is none of your concern," he mumbled. "All you need to know is that I'm a friend of Francis'."

Adeline's heart stopped at the mention of her lover's name. This man knows Francis! Maybe he knows about where he is, how he is… If he's alive.

But if this man knew Francis, then he must be in the Resistance. That would explain his reluctance to share his name with her.

But it could all be a sham to hurt either her or Estelle. How could she know that this man really knew Francis and didn't pose a threat?

She took a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke again. Her voice dropped low to match the stranger's. "How do I know you're not lying to me?"

The stranger bowed his head and leaned forward to whisper in Adeline's ear. His breath was hot against her hair and his stubbly cheek scratched hers. Her body froze partly out of fear, partly out of anticipation. Her spine went rigid, waiting.

His words made her breath catch in her throat. "Your name is Adeline Moreau. You have been with Francis Bonnefoy for nearly a year and a half. He loves you with all of his heart, and you betrayed him, but despite this he still loves you. And you still love him back, don't you?"

Her stunned silence was the only answer that the stranger needed. He continued.

"The last time that you saw him, you two fought bitterly. He stormed away and left you to come and see me. I had presented him an offer that he had previously denied, and he informed me that he would take me up on my offer now. That evening he left this area and was not followed. The Gestapo have no idea of his whereabouts because he is not on their radar. The letter you sent to Hauptsturmführer Gilbert Beilschmidt was intercepted by a contact in the postal service and destroyed. There are no existing connections between Francis and the Resistance. He is alive and fighting for the cause, but I will not tell you where or how. All you need to know is that he is out of the picture and is planning to return shortly."

The man drew back and stood up straight. Adeline took a moment to breathe and process the information that this stranger had just given her. One thought ran circles in her mind.

_Francis is alive!_

The more she thought about this, the more heavy the thought sat in her mind. Shortly, the tears rolled from her lashes and the sobs racked her body. The stranger embraced her and stroked her hair. They stood this way for many minutes, until Adeline pulled away to wipe the tearstains from her cheeks.

"I… I have to get… get back to work," she stuttered. Before she left Estelle's room, she placed a hand on the stranger's shoulder and whispered a shaky "Thank you" before she left to continue her shift. She left the door of Estelle's room open for the strange man who knew everything.

The stranger quietly entered the hospital room, watching Estelle in the bed. She was fast asleep. Dead to the world in more ways than one.

He eased himself into a chair that sat at the foot of her bed and sighed. Francis cared so much for his sister, and the stranger, who was Francis' dear friend and fellow Resistance fighter Jean, knew that if there was anything that he could do to help Estelle, he would do it. The question was what.

He and Francis had thought of everything to try and bring Estelle back, but everything that they had proposed and tried failed. Doctors had failed, medicines had failed, Francis' tearful pleas had failed. Nothing could even begin to bring her back from the throes of her own mind.

It seemed as if there was no hope, but Jean knew that if they gave up on hope then they gave up on Estelle herself. Hope was a precious thing that must be protected at all costs. They both knew that.

Jean thought about Francis a lot. Mostly wondering about his safety, where he was, what he was doing. He knew the general idea of his mission, but didn't know any specifics of any kind. He desperately hoped that he was alright. Safe. He hoped that Francis was getting the hospital reports that he was forwarding. He never did get any sort of reply. Maybe this next week there would be something. The other men were feeling the same way. Everyone loved Francis and wanted the best for him. Him being gone was strange, and people were ill at ease with it. Jean always got questions about any sort of news from Francis, and he always had to reply with a sorrowful "No".

Everyone longed for the day that Francis would come back, but they all knew that the day that France was free was the day that ultimately mattered in the end. Jean often wondered just how much blood would need to be spilt to earn this freedom.

Just how much blood, and whose it would be.

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**Thanks for reading, you wonderful people! Drop a review if you are so inclined! Until next time!**

**Harley**


	20. Alfred: 31 July-1 August, 1944

**Sorry for the delay in updating, I've been in and out of the hospital this month. It's been rough, but I'm back now with a new chapter for y'all and that's all that matters! So consider this my Easter present to you! **

**Enjoy!**

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Alfred sat in the room surrounded by his fellow Marines and Francis in a small room in the barracks. The lights flickered every so often, but that didn't bother anyone. Their attention was solely focused on Ortiz, who stood at the front of the room. His arms were crossed, and his face solemn. Behind him was a map of where the group's mission was to take place: A small village about an hour's plane ride to the south. The map showed an aerial view of the village itself and of about a mile of the roads and forests that surrounded it in each direction. Alfred and everyone else in the room held a miniature copy of the map in their hands for their own use, folded into squares and small enough to fit into a pocket with ease.

Alfred looked at his watch. It was nearly noon. They had been in this meeting since six this morning, going over and over again where they would drop, when they would drop, going over equipment and supplies, everything. All avenues were now exhausted, and Ortiz now had only one message left for his men. They all listened intently, but everyone in the room knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"Guys," Ortiz sighed, "I've been in countless situations like this, but this never gets easy for me to say, and I never say it lightly because it's the truest thing that I can tell you." The aging Marine slowly pulled a stool from where it sat near the wall and eased himself down into it. The room was silent. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before he continued.

"Every time we step out of these doors, get into a plane, sling a rifle over our shoulders, we run the risk of never returning. But we take that risk anyway, because we know that this is what we are expected to do. It's what we train for. It's what we swore to do when we entered into this brotherhood we call the Marine Corps. We swore to defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. We swore to obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed above us. We have done so. We will do so tomorrow. I have faith that you men will do everything that it takes to execute the orders that have been passed down to us. I want us all to board that plane tomorrow morning, and I want us all to make it back in one piece. That may happen, and that may not. Before we go, I want you all to know that…" He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard. "Before we go, I want you all to know that I have never led a better group of Marines."

The words fell heavily on the gathered men, and Alfred realized that he had been picking his nails down to the quick from anticipation, nerves, and concentration. His thumb was bleeding.

Ortiz suddenly slapped his thigh and jumped off of the stool and onto his feet. "Alright, enough lovey dovey crap, you boys get some rest, get your things arranged. Big day tomorrow, you know. You're dismissed."

Ortiz glanced at the map on the wall as he left the room. The door shut loudly behind him and the sound echoed in the small room.

The air was heavy. Everyone knew what Ortiz meant when he said 'get your things arranged'.

He meant that they were to get their belongings arranged in case they were killed in action.

Alfred knew exactly what he had to do.

-x-x-x-

The barracks were silent. Every man was sitting on his bed either checking his gear, securing his belongings, or like Alfred, writing letters.

Alfred had two letters sitting on his lap. He also had a small pile of crumpled up papers on the bed to his left, all drafts that just weren't quite right. Now he thought that he had them right.

One letter was to his parents, the other was to Sarah Jane. Neither letter was to be sent unless he was not to return home. They would accompany his belongings… Along with his casket.

He held up the letter to his parents and read it one last time, just to make sure it was perfect.

_Mom and Dad,_

_If you are reading this, then that means that I won't be coming home. I want you to know that I love you both very much, and that I think of you every day. I wish that I was home with you, but I heard the call of my country, and I had to answer. Please don't blame anyone for what has happened. I consider it an honor to have been able to lay down my life for my country, my brothers in arms, and for you. _

_I love you both with all my heart. Thank you for raising me and shaping me into the man that I have become. _

_Your son always,_

_Alfred_

It was the best that he could do. He found it difficult to find the words to say to his parents, what could be his final words to them. He counted the failed tries that he had made to get this final letter. Seven, wasn't it? No, eight. _It doesn't matter, _he thought. _It's not like they're going to read this anyway… _His stomach twisted. He wanted to be sick just thinking about it. How could he say goodbye to his parents? Alfred shook his head and sighed. He picked up the letter to Sarah Jane.

_My beautiful Sarah Jane,_

_You are my moon and my stars. I dream of you every night. I dream of our child every night, growing every day. I dream of marrying you, carrying you across the threshold of our home, holding our baby. I've told you before, but I just know deep down that it's a girl. I dream of watching her walk, talk, and of dropping her off at her first day of school. I dream of picking her up after she falls from her bike time and time again, and of kissing her skinned knee to make it better. I dream of taking her to her first school dance, of watching her get ready for her prom, of making her date's knees shake out of fear. I dream of walking her down the aisle in her wedding dress and giving her away to the man that she'll spend the rest of her life with. I dream of doing this together, with you. I dream of growing old with you, spending the rest of my life with you._

_Forgive me, Sarah Jane, but now these are all just dreams. This will be the last that you'll hear from me, because I won't be coming home to you. I won't be coming home at all. You're reading this because I've been killed in action, and this letter has been sent because of that. I wanted to be the one to tell you, since the only way you would find out is through the grapevine, and I could never do that to you. _

_My dearest Sarah Jane, forgive me for leaving you all alone, but you must do one thing for me. You must move on. Our child deserves a father, even if it's not her real one. Give her that for me, please. Teach her what I can't, how to become a woman just like her mother. Strong, loving, and incredible._

_I love you with everything that I am._

_I will always and forever be yours._

_Alfred_

By the time he had finished reading over the letter, Alfred's hands were shaking. He had poured his heart out onto the paper but still felt that it was lacking. Both letters were. The letter to his parents was short because he knew that his parents, especially his mother, wouldn't be able to handle anything much longer. Sarah Jane's letter was longer because she wouldn't get anything from anyone. Besides, she was the mother of his child. Deep down, he knew it would be a girl. He just _knew! _He smiled as he thought about everything that he had written about. Raising his child, being with Sarah Jane.

Alfred kept these thoughts in his mind as he sealed the letters in two small envelopes, then slipped the letter to his parents into a bag of his things. He then addressed the letter to Sarah Jane for him to take down to the 'post office', on orders for them to not send it unless he was labeled as being killed in action.

Alfred prayed that no one would ever have to read these letters.

-x-x-x-

No one had slept that night. None of the Marines in the barrack spoke though. Every man was left to his private thoughts.

It had been the calm before the storm.

Now, the rumbling of the plane's engine as it gained speed down a short runway filled every man's ears in the echoing cargo bay of the plane. Alfred's shoulders were pressed against the shoulders of two of his fellow Marines, and he was facing a row of them. Their knees were all knocking each others' with each bump and jostle. From the little window to his right, Alfred could see into the cockpit. All he could see from his seated position was Francis' head. His long hair fell in a tangled blond waterfall behind his headset, one side of which was pushed back to keep one ear free. Alfred looked back down at his lap. His hands were folded, fingers interlocked. He stared down at his hands and remained silent. No one wanted to talk anyway.

The plane tipped up, and everyone in the cargo bay was jolted toward the back of the plane. Alfred's parachute shifted uncomfortably, and his shoulder slammed into the man to his left's ribs. He tried to voice an apology, but it was lost in the rattle of the engine. After a minute or two of being in the man's armpit, the plane evened out and everyone could sit back up straight again.

Every gust of wind could be felt by the men in the cargo bay as they flew to their target drop site. The same thing was running through each man's mind: The faces of the people they loved most.

The hour came and went faster than Alfred could have realized. Before he knew it, someone stood up to open the door in the rear of the plane that they would all jump out of. "Alright boys, it's go time!" he yelled above the racket of the plane. As everyone jumped to their feet, the Marine at the door gave them a thumbs up and yanked the door open. Cold wind whipped into the cargo bay and screamed loudly in Alfred's ears. He could see that they were flying low, maybe four hundred feet. They were so low, Alfred smiled at being able to see cows grazing contentedly in the fields below, completely unaware of what was about to transpire.

Alfred took a deep breath and patted a hand over his left breast pocket. In it was the photo strip that Sarah Jane had sent to him. It was as close to his heart as he could get it.

He was ready.

Francis signaled the man at the door. They were over the drop zone.

"Go! Go! Go!" he screamed.

Every Marine ran for the door just as they were trained.

Alfred's heart pounded in his ears.

His legs moved automatically.

He reached the door in three strides.

Then he hurtled himself toward the ground.

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**Cliffhanger... Again...**

**Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you are so inclined, it would be greatly appreciated. I hope y'all all have a happy Easter!**

**Love always,**

**Harley**


	21. Gilbert: 22 July, 1944

**Hey guys! Here's a new chapter for you to enjoy! I must make a disclaimer that there's a bit of violence in this chapter, so just be warned. **

**And now... Here's the continuation of the lovely cliffhanger I gave you...**

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The door slid open slowly on rusty hinges. A small creak cut the air. Gilbert slipped through the door and closed it behind him as quietly as he could. His breathing was slow, deep, even. His jaw was clenched so tightly, he thought his teeth might break. His feet were like lead, but they moved on their own accord down the hall.

The wooden floor creaked as he reached the top of the stairs.

A hushed German voice from downstairs drifted up to Gilbert's ears.

"Someone's here."

Gilbert took a breath and smiled. He knew that voice. It was one of his subordinates. These were his men that were here, but… For the life of him, he couldn't think of why.

It was alright though. He knew these men, so this threat might pass easily.

If he could play as his normal happy-go-lucky self, then he might be able to avoid a catastrophe and spare a life by getting these men out of here and away from Monika and Miriam, who were hidden in the room just behind him. Under the bed. Scared out of their minds.

_Just breathe, Gil. Concentrate. Think on your feet. You can talk your way out of this, easy. Just clear your head and it'll all be fine._

At least, so he hoped.

"Unteroffizier Kempfe? Is that you down there?" Gilbert called out. _Please let this be a good idea._

There was a confused pause. "Hauptsturmführer Beilschmidt?" a voice called back.

Gilbert sighed in relief. They would all be perfectly fine. Kempfe, the man downstairs, was one of his good friends. There was no danger here.

"Ja, it's me," Gilbert called as he started down the steps. He got about halfway down before he stopped to lean his elbow against the railing. He stealthily slid his right hand behind him to conceal the pistol that he still held.

"Oh good," Kempfe said with a smile. He lowered the rifle that he held so that it rested loosely in his hands. "We thought that there was a prowler here. No worries now!" Kempfe was a young man, early twenties, and was as loyal a soldier as Gilbert could ask for. He truly liked Kempfe, and Kempfe had saved Gilbert's life on the battlefield on numerous occasions. Gilbert had gladly returned the favor.

Another man walked into the house through the front door. Gilbert couldn't be happier, and his face didn't hesitate to show it. The man was another trusted young soldier named Hauptsturmführer Meissner. "Meissner!" Gilbert called.

"Beilschmidt!" Meissner laughed. He lowered his weapon also. "What are you doing here?"

"Ja," Kempfe asked, "What _are _you doing here?"

"Oh, Ludwig and I had a fight and I just needed some space," Gilbert said, dismissing the men's questions with a wave of his hand.

Meissner frowned. "This is quite a long way from headquarters. A bit of a drive."

Gilbert shrugged. "It was a big fight. I needed-"

"A _lot _of space, I follow," Kempfe laughed. "Well, this is certainly a good place for some solitude." His eyes wandered around the room. "Forgive us for intruding, but we're searching all the houses on this street. There was a suspicion that there were Jews hiding here."

Gilbert's heart skipped a beat. He frowned in an attempt to hide his thoughts, as his mind had just ascended the staircase. "Jews? Here?" Gilbert asked. _Play it off, play dumb, _he thought. _Remember, you have no clue what he's talking about._ "I thought this street had already been searched, what, over a month ago?"

"It was," Kampfe said. "It doesn't make any sense to me, but you know how it is. Orders are orders, no matter how dumb they sound." He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, we could be doing much better things right now instead of walking through empty houses. This street was liquidated forever ago."

"So who ordered this?" Gilbert asked.

"Schieck." Kampfe droned. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "There's something wrong… You know…" He wiggled his fingers around his head and made a sound. "He's a bit off in the head."

"Tell me about it," Gilbert laughed nervously. "You're searching empty streets. I mean come on. The guy's a lunatic."

The sounds of approaching engines filled Gilbert's ears. More jeeps were driving down the street. Gilbert glanced out of the open door. Some were stopping in front of buildings that were surrounding them. Gilbert's heart began to race. This wasn't looking good. His palms began to sweat. His mind raced. _How am I going to get the girls out of here now that this place is swarming with Nazis…?_

"Yeah, he's a little out there," Meissner remarked, "But orders are orders. We just have to take a look upstairs and we'll be out of here."

Gilbert's heart stopped. _Take it easy. Talk your way out of this. Keep your mind clear. Think. _

"Oh guys, there's no one up here, it's just me." He tightened his grip on his pistol, which was still hidden behind him.

"We know," Kempfe said, "But we still have to look. You know. Orders." He shrugged and started toward the bottom of the steps. Gilbert slowly centered himself in the middle of the staircase. "Trust me," he said, his voice hardened just a touch, "There's nothing here. Move on to the next house."

"Gil, it's a simple search," Kempfe said. "What… What's going on?"

"Yeah, you're not acting like yourself." Meissner added. "You have a problem with us going upstairs for some reason?"

"Just…" Gilbert took a deep breath through his nose, then let it out slowly. "Please. Just go on."

In his mind, Gilbert was losing his cool facade. _They need to just leave! I've got to think of something before it's too late!_

Meissner took a step back and frowned. "Look, you need to relax." He started to laugh. "I mean come on, it's not like you've got a Jew hiding in the attic or anything!"

Gilbert couldn't keep his face from contorting just a hair. His face told the whole story. The second he felt his expression change, he knew he had just destroyed any hope that he had of making it out of this encounter unscathed.

Meissner's laugh slowed until it faded to nothing. "You've got to be kidding me. This is a joke, right? Look, you're famous for pranks, but this is just…" His voice gradually got quieter until it was barely a whisper. "You're joking, right?"

Kempfe looked back at Meissner, then turned back to Gilbert. His eyes were wide, confused. "Beilschmidt?"

Gilbert clenched his jaw, and he tried to hide the pain in his face. _I can't believe this. _

Meissner's jaw dropped ever so slightly. His words came out like a breath. "Mein Gott, you didn't!"

_What have I done. _

Gilbert's finger slid down to rest on the trigger of the pistol. A knot that he couldn't swallow came up in his throat. Tears burned in his eyes.

Meissner's face was clouded by shock, but Kempfe's face was wrought by the despair that comes with betrayal. "Gil… Tell me you didn't…"

Gilbert's pained silence was answer enough for them.

Kempfe nearly dropped his rifle. "Gil…?" His voice was thick and heavy. "I don't understand…"

_What do I do now, what do I do now, what do I do now? Okay, think of something, anything! I have to keep them from coming up the stairs… But there's only one way to do that… No! No, I am _not _doing that, these are my friends… But my girls, I'm the only one that can protect them..._

_I am going to do anything that I must to protect my girls._

_Anything._

These two men, his friends, were the only ones that knew.

He had no other option.

Gilbert's pistol flew up in the blink of an eye. He leveled it with Kempfe's head.

Gilbert's voice shook with emotion. "Move and you die."

No one moved. No one breathed. The air was still. To Gilbert, it was as if the earth had stopped spinning.

Kempfe's face betrayed his thoughts. _How could you do this?_

He could only whisper one word. "Gilbert…" His eyes were filled with pain.

Meissner steeled himself. _Gilbert may be my friend, but he's holding a gun to my other friend's head. _His lip curled in disgust. _And all over some Jewish scum._ He raised his rifle to his shoulder in one swift movement.

Gilbert saw everything out of the corner of his eye.

He couldn't stop himself.

He swiveled to his left.

He aimed without thinking.

He didn't hesitate.

The crack of the pistol echoed through the room.

Meissner's head whipped back, and he fell backwards. His body tumbled over a chair, and both crashed onto the floor.

The wall was painted with blood.

Gilbert whipped the gun back automatically so it was aimed at Kempfe once again. Gilbert's eyes swam with tears. Kempfe was reeling from the shock of just seeing one of his best friends shoot one of his other best friends in the head. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth was gaping open. Tears streamed down his face.

"What have you done!" Kempfe screamed.

Gilbert's pistol began to shake. His vision blurred.

_What have I just done! I just… I… _

He stared at Kempfe down the sights of his pistol.

_Now what am I supposed to do?_

An image of the two girls cowering under the bed upstairs came to his mind, and his nerves were steeled.

His mind couldn't think of anything else but his girls. Now, it didn't matter that Kempfe and he were battle buddies, that each had put their life on the line for the other more times than could be counted.

Kempfe was his brother.

But Kempfe stood in the way of his girls' safety.

And that just couldn't happen.

Gilbert pulled the trigger.

Kempfe stumbled from the impact and fell back against the wall. His rifle fell to the floor at his feet. He looked down slowly at his chest and at the growing red stain. He looked back up at Gilbert with wide, shocked eyes.

For an entire second, Gilbert couldn't move. He was completely numb. When that second passed, he shoved his pistol back in its holster with shaking hands and ran down the steps to catch his friend in his arms, as his legs had just given out.

"It's okay, it's okay," he hurriedly whispered in Kempfe's ear. Kempfe tried to shove Gilbert away, hit him, hurt him in any way, but his weakening body could do nothing. Gilbert eased him down so that he sat with his back against the wall. Gilbert knelt over him and held Kempfe's face in his hands. He leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. "Oh forgive me, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Kempfe relaxed his body and took one, two sickeningly wet breaths.

He reached his hand up and grasped Gilbert's collar.

"What is it, buddy?" He listened eagerly. Kempfe was going to say something.

Kempfe smiled coldly, then choked out a bloody, "Screw you," before his body fell limply forward onto the floor.

Gilbert wanted to be anywhere but in his own skin at this moment. Hot tears spilled onto his cheeks. _What in the world have I done?_ He wanted to just stay here forever in his misery and anguish, but he forced himself to rise to his feet. Monika and Miriam weren't out of danger yet.

He was just trying to figure out what to do when the door of the house was thrown open. In three seconds, the room was flooded with Nazis, and all their rifles were pointed straight at him.

The rifles advanced toward him, and someone was screaming from behind them. Gilbert couldn't see his face.

"He shot them! I saw him!"

Gilbert looked down at his hands and chest. He was covered in Kempfe's blood. He looked up and was struck in the face with the butt of a rifle. He fell back against the stairs, and his head hit the edge of a step. He was flipped over on his stomach, then a boot pinned him down and hands yanked his arms behind him. Blood dripped from a cut over Gilbert's left eye. Metal handcuffs were slapped around his wrists. Someone ripped his pistol from its holster. Arms jerked him to his feet, and he was dragged outside into the sunlight. Once outside, someone shoved him down to the stone sidewalk. Gilbert grunted as he hit the ground, but he wasted no time in getting up onto his feet. His head throbbed horribly, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could. He looked up, and found himself face to face with the very last man on the planet that he wanted to see.

Schieck.

The man that everyone knew was a psychopath.

The obscenities running through Gilbert's mind were enough to make even the most hardened soldier raise his eyebrows.

Schieck stared into Gilbert's eyes. He returned the steely gaze with his own icy one. He blinked the blood out of his eye.

The street was silent.

Gilbert could hear the blood from his cut _drip, drip, drip_ onto the ground.

His breathing was ragged.

Schieck broke the silence with words that came straight out of Gilbert's nightmares.

"Search the house. Kill anything you find."

Gilbert struggled to keep his face like stone, but he couldn't hide the panic in his eyes.

Schieck smirked.

_Monika and Miriam are only under the bed! They'll find them the second they walk into the room! They'll find them and kill them! No, they can't! I have to stop it somehow!_

But Gilbert could do nothing.

He could only hold Schieck's unwavering stare while his heart felt as if it would burst.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

_They haven't found them… They haven't found them… They haven't–_

Gilbert couldn't hold his scream back when a rifle shot rang out through the air.

Schieck kicked Gilbert in the knee, sending him down to the pavement with a cry. He then kicked him as if he were a mangy dog, but Gilbert only took the blows. He did nothing. He lay there, all the strength gone from his body. He wanted to die. He had failed.

_But there was only one shot._

Gilbert waited for the second shot, but it never came. At the sound of boots, he rolled to his side, then struggled up onto his knees. He raised his head and looked to the door.

Three soldiers walked out onto the street holding their rifles.

A fourth dragged Monika's bloody body out by her hair.

_No… _

The scream that ripped from Gilbert's throat was everything that he could possibly feel. His scream was the sound of despair. His body went limp onto the ground. He couldn't stop his screams and tears.

Schieck curled his lip in disgust. "Jude Liebhaber! You nasty Jew lover!"

The blows that the Nazis who were gathered around delivered to Gilbert's body were nothing to him compared to the absolute devastation inside of his soul. His eyes were glued to Monika's crumpled body, which lay forgotten in the street. His tears mixed with his blood, and his cries masked the sound of his breaking ribs. Breathing was impossible. With every sucking breath, a boot kicked the air right out of his lungs. A rifle butt to his eye broke the bones around it, and that eye swelled shut in seconds. A kick to the shoulder pulled it from its socket. His hands and fingers shattered with one bootfall. His intestines felt as if they were going to burst.

Gilbert could only think about the forgotten body in the street.

_Monika… My sweet, innocent, beautiful Monika… _

"Stop!" Schieck's voice cut through the thuds and cracks. The beating skidded to a halt. Gilbert gasped to breathe. His eyes were still on Monika's body.

Everyone waited for the inevitable.

Gilbert knew what was coming now.

Schieck sighed. He waved a hand in the air.

"Take him over there."

Arms gripped Gilbert under his armpits and dragged his limp body across the street. Gilbert cried out in pain with each of the soldier's steps. They threw him against a cold concrete wall and stood to the side. Gilbert's body hit the wall and fell heavily onto the ground. He lay there in his agony and waited.

A metal _click _in front of him made Gilbert's good eye shoot open. His tiny breaths caught in his throat.

The cocking of a gun.

There was a bullet in that gun with his name on it.

He swallowed hard.

_This is it._

But Gilbert was not about to allow himself to go down like this.

_I'm not dying on my face, weak, like this._

Painstakingly slow, Gilbert pushed himself up to his feet. He used the concrete wall at his back to slide up. Twice he fell to his knees, but he only groaned and cried out as he got back up again. He fought the pain until he stood, shakily, on his own two feet. He leveled his defiant gaze with Schieck's. He looked past the gun in Schieck's hand, which was leveled with his brain.

"If you're going to shoot me," Gilbert said slowly, "You're going to look me in the eyes when you do."

_It probably doesn't matter, _Gilbert thought, _but at least I'm dying on my own two feet. _

Schieck narrowed his eyes.

Gilbert stared down the barrel of his gun, unphased.

There was a pregnant pause, then the sound of a lone jeep driving down the street reached Gilbert's bleeding ears. He paid it no attention until a familiar blond head came into view.

_Impossible… _

Gilbert's eyes flickered over to the man. They widened to the size of saucers upon recognizing who that man was, and he couldn't hold the scream back.

"LUDWIG!"

That's when the gun went off.

Gilbert's head slammed against the concrete wall and then fell forward. His body followed it. He dropped limply against the street with a final _thud_. His dull eyes stared forward at nothing. Blood oozed from the bullet hole in his forehead onto the street. It pooled at his head and meandered down the cracks and crevices in the street, down into the gutter. It mingled together with the refuse of the street.

-x-x-x-

Ludwig fell to his knees where he stood. The breath in his lungs felt as if it were sucked right out of his body.

_My eyes are lying to me. There is no way that this is real. I did not just see my brother shot in the head. I didn't… I couldn't… No, this is impossible… Oh Gil… _

Someone drew him up to his feet and took him toward the body. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bloodstained platinum hair and the empty eyes.

Someone said something to him that he didn't catch. "Wh… What?" he mumbled.

"I said," Schieck repeated, slightly annoyed, "Your brother was caught hiding a Jew." He gestured over his shoulder to Monika's body. "Death is the consequence. It's the law."

Ludwig's brain jumped into high gear. _They only found Monika. Miriam is still alive, somewhere. I have to act completely unaware of anything._

Ludwig steeled himself and stepped up close to Gilbert's body. He took the toe of his boot and moved Gilbert's head so that he could see his face. He swallowed bile back down his throat as he let Gilbert's head loll back to its resting place on the street in a pool of his own blood.

_Make it believable. _

Ludwig screwed up his face and spat on his brother's body.

"Jude Liebhaber," he muttered.

He turned his back on his brother's body and walked decisively back toward the jeep. "Leave his body where it is," he called over his shoulder. "That Jew-loving swine doesn't deserve a grave."

Ludwig walked back to the jeep as fast as he dared. He knew where he had to go, and he had to get there before anyone else did. He climbed into the jeep, fumbled with the keys, and started it up on the third try. He threw it in gear and drove down a side street, away from the bloodbath and toward the convent that Gilbert and he were planning on taking the girls that night.

He had been driving for no more than two minutes before he spotted something that nearly made him crash the jeep right then.

It was Miriam.

He would know that head of curls anywhere.

She was walking on the side of the street in her nightgown and shoes, dragging a tiny bundle behind her.

Ludwig slammed on the brakes and put the jeep in park.

_I can't believe this! It's her!_

He opened the door of the jeep and stepped out onto the street.

"Miriam!"

She turned around, eyes wide and scared. The second she spotted Ludwig, she sprinted toward him. He knelt and opened his arms wide, and she collided with his body. Her arms clutched at his body with every ounce of strength that she had in her tiny body, and he held her as tightly as he dared. "You're safe, you're safe, it's all going to be okay now," he whispered in her ear.

"Where's Monika? She said that she was coming after me. Where is she?"

Ludwig was silent. How could he tell her that Monika was dead?

_I can't… I just can't._

Miriam drew back and looked Ludwig in the face. "Lud, where's Monika?"

He couldn't look her in the eyes.

"Come on, let's go. The church is just around the corner."

-x-x-x-

Ludwig stood in a shower stall late that night in the communal bathroom. After he had taken Miriam to the church, he drove straight back to headquarters. He went up to his room and locked himself in until dark. He could feel nothing. He tried to feel something, anything at all, but he couldn't feel anything no matter how hard he tried. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at a crack in his wall. His mind was blank. He was okay with that.

When he couldn't hear any voices in the hall outside of his room, he numbly picked up a towel and headed for the showers, which were, thankfully, empty.

He closed the door of the shower stall furthest from the door, unwound his towel from his waist, and draped it over the door. There was only one water temperature, cold, so Ludwig turned the faucet and shivered when the icy water hit his chest. He let the water run over his head, through his hair, over his face, down his back, and all the way down to his toes.

Ludwig sighed and listened for anyone that could be around him, but there was no one to hear. He was completely alone.

That's when he broke down.

When the body-racking sobs started, he couldn't stop them, nor did he want to. His body went weak, and he sat down in the middle of the shower stall. He drew his knees to his chest under the stream of icy water, and buried his head in his hands.

_I don't want to face a world without my brother in it._

_I can't do it._

_I just can't._

* * *

**No. I'm not okay. I'm bawling my eyes out.**

**No tears in the author, no tears in the reader, right?.**

**Oh Gilbert, I'm sorry. **

**I'm so sorry.**


	22. Francis: 1 August, 1944

**Hey guys! So sorry for the little hiatus, but I've been struggling with some health issues that have been slowing the writing process a bit. But that doesn't matter right now, because I've got another chapter ready for your enjoyment! Happy reading!**

* * *

Here, up above the ground, Francis felt alive. Here, with the engine roaring in his ears and nothing but sky and horizon before him, he was finally able to forget everything. He could put his sister behind him. He could leave Adeline far away.

Right now, for the first time in what felt like forever, Francis was actually happy. He even was able to attempt a small smile. He had almost forgotten what a smile felt like on his lips.

There were still a few moments until the plane loaded with Marines would be flying over the drop zone, so Francis was able to take a moment to breathe. He rubbed his eyes with one hand. He was exhausted. When was the last time he had slept and actually rested? He could hardly even remember. He had been up for weeks preparing the plane, the Marine's gear and his own, going over plans, and arranging safe flight routes. It didn't matter though. _The moment I get back, I'm crashing on the first bed that I see, and I'm not waking up until next week._

He chuckled to himself at the thought. Being able to sleep late was such a luxury for him. As if he would be able to. No, when the morning came, he would be back at it, 'pounding the pavement' as they say. He had a job to do after all.

_Speaking of jobs, _he thought, _the drop zone is just about here. Adjust a few knobs, angle the nose down, check your altitude and the speed of your descent. _His orders were to fly low, but he wasn't used to flying quite _this _low. The plane broke through the clouds and dropped down, down, down. Francis eyed his altitude gauge warily. He couldn't go down too fast, or he'd lose control of the plane and they'd all be dead. He couldn't go down too slow, or they'd miss the drop site. This would take a steady and deft hand, along with a wise eye. Francis would have this. Easy.

Down the plane continued. He counted down along with the altitude gauge's needle. _One thousand feet, eight hundred, six… _

At four hundred feet, Francis pulled the plane up so it leveled out. _Bang bang bang _he pounded on the glass behind his head with his fist.

It was drop time. Now or never.

The shaking of the plane told Francis that the back door had been opened. He chanced a swift glance back behind his shoulder, and he watched to make sure he saw men making the jump out of the door. His head swiveled down to his left and back. He could see the men drop, and he watched the white parachutes open like mushrooms. He counted, but came up one short. One parachute hadn't opened. Francis felt a rock drop into his stomach. Within seconds the cargo bay was empty, and the door drawn shut. He turned back to the front of the plane, his mouth drawn in a tight line. A pounding on the glass behind his head gave him the go-ahead to climb back into the clouds. Francis swallowed the knot that had formed in his throat and obliged. There was nothing he could do for the unfortunate man now, whoever he was. He gently pulled up on the controls, and the plane started to climb, but a sharp _crack _sent Francis' pulse racing.

"You have got to be kidding me!"

The plane's nose tilted up sharply. The Marine in the cargo bay tumbled to the back and slammed into the door. Francis could hear the man's screamed obscenities, and something about a broken nose, but he was far more concerned with the stream of bullets that were hot on his tail.

An idea popped into his head. It was crazy. The kind of crazy that just might work.

Francis gripped the wheel of the plane so hard that his knuckles went white.

"Hang on!"

-x-x-x-

The little French village down below was nestled deep in the green country hillside. In all the years of its existence, the tiny village had never been touched by the horrors of war.

That is, until the Germans drove in through the front gate.

Now, the village was crawling with soldiers screaming on radios, toting rifles and ammunition, and manning and feeding an anti-aircraft gun that was intent on bringing the enemy aircraft that was flying overhead down to the ground in flames.

There was not a French villager to be seen. The streets were empty, as if the village had never been inhabited at all. They were all cowering in their homes, terrified. Someone had seen the parachutes drop, and news of the Allied help that was surely coming spread through the village like wildfire. Whispers of liberation from these German animals that destroyed their village and livelihoods slipped through cracked doors and drifted around shadowed corners.

At the sound of the anti-aircraft gun roaring to life, nearly every villager's knees hit the ground to pray for the safety of their saviors, who were riding in on the eastern wind.

After a few painstaking minutes of gunfire, shouts of victory could be heard from the Germans, and jeep engines were fired to life.

Men shook their heads in the darkness. Children cried, and their mothers hushed them hurriedly. No one wanted to say it. Someone finally stated the obvious.

"They must have shot it down and now they're going to go and look for any survivors. If God has any mercy, he would let those poor souls die in the crash."

A woman stifled a wail.

-x-x-x-

_No, this is NOT how I'm going to die. I am NOT going down now. I REFUSE to die like this!_

Francis put everything the plane had into a right bank, narrowly missing a stream of red-hot bullets that would have torn right through the cockpit, but now they peppered his tail as he brought the plane down and on a hard left. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to shake the hostile fire. If he was in his own plane, he could weave his way free, but in this cargo plane, he felt cumbersome and sluggish. Take a turn too hard, and down they would go. His only option was to dodge the bullets for as long as he could until he flew out of range and into safe air. This was proving to be quite the challenge indeed.

Another string of _cracks _sent Francis climbing higher into the clouds, but he was too slow in his ascent. The plane jerked and shook, and the Marine in the cargo bay screamed. Francis whipped his head around to assess the damage. "Mon Dieu," he cried.

The entire cargo bay was littered with holes the size of a fist. Metal was twisted and warped. Blood was spattered on the wall. The wounded Marine screamed and writhed where he lay. His hands were trying to hold his intestines inside of his body, but they spilled out and over his shaking fingers.

Francis knew there was no way to save him, that there was nothing he could do, and that he was dead the second the bullet ripped through his body. He knew this, but he couldn't press down the ugly and fiery feeling of remorse that churned in his gut. He wanted to vomit, but that wouldn't do anyone any favors.

Bullets crashed through the front of the plane and through the cockpit, and Francis ducked down low into the seat. Broken glass rained down on his head. Metal twisted in bizarre shapes. Gauge needles flew into the red zones. Black smoke billowed out from behind the plane and stained the blue August sky a sickening gray. The engine whined and groaned like a wounded and dying animal, then altogether gave out. Metal creaked and bent until it broke to fall down to the ground. The nose of the plane dipped sharply. Francis yanked frantically on the plane's controls, but to no avail.

Francis' breath caught in his throat.

He tried to swallow, but a hard knot had just formed in his throat.

A single bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

He pulled up on the controls as hard as he could, straining his muscles, but it was no use.

He was going down, and fast.

If the crash didn't kill him, the Germans that would find him most certainly would. Once they discovered that he was a Resistance member, they would show him no mercy. German treatment toward French Resistance prisoners was infamous for its cruelty.

The ground was growing closer and closer by the second.

His mind raced. He had nothing in his pockets that tied him to home. No letters, no pictures, nothing that he could hold in his hand during the final seconds before impact. He was hardly expecting to be getting shot at, much less shot _down_. To make up for what he lacked, Francis tried to recall his sister's face. However, all he could muster was a woman with a blankly vacant expression, not the girl he grew up with who held the stars in her clear blue eyes. He didn't want to think of Adeline at all, but her voice wormed its way through his consciousness in spite of himself.

Desperate now, Francis grasped at these memories with all that he had and sat back in his seat. He braced himself for the impact that would come in five…

_This is it then._

Four…

_This has been my life._

Three…

_Estelle knows that I love her._

Two…

_I think… I think I may forgive Adeline._

One…

_God have mercy, please let me die._

There was a deafening crash and a flash of heat. Francis could feel his bones break as his body slammed into the console when the plane plowed into the earth. The acrid smell of burned hair and skin filled his nostrils. Then, everything went dark, and Francis knew no more.

-x-x-x-

His senses came back to him one at a time. First was his sense of smell.

The cutting smells of burning fuel and singed hair rushed into his nostrils. Then came the sweet scent of freshly upturned earth, followed quickly by the metallic scent of blood. The reek of burnt flesh overpowered everything, making it impossible for Francis to smell anything else after a few moments.

_My name is Francis Bonnefoy. _

Next came his hearing.

He could hear the pop and crackle of flames. A low rumble that sounded like a jeep engine steadily grew louder until it stopped maybe a few hundred feet away. Distant shouting reached his ears in a language he couldn't quite place… Was it… German? Yes, that was it.

_I am a French Resistance fighter and a patriot._

He could feel the weight of his body as it lay crushed against the dash of the plane. His arms were spread above his head. Something sharp was cutting his hands and wrists. Glass from the cockpit. Every shallow breath felt as if knives were being shoved between his obviously broken ribs. His head rested on the controls, but the metal controls felt warm and sticky.

_I was in a plane crash while flying American troops into a French village._

A copper taste covered his tongue, along with another taste, this one bitter. He knew the first taste instantly. Blood. The second took him a moment to place. Dirt.

_German troops are coming for me._

His eyelids were coated with blood, and when his eyes slowly opened, the blood dripped into his eyes. The images that met his gaze were blurry and discolored, but they sharpened with each blink. The wreckage of the plane bent around him came slowly into focus. He took in his broken and bloodied body, the cracked gauges, the shattered glass, and the wreckage that was scattered on the ground. About a hundred yards away came ten figures running toward him. From this distance, he couldn't make out who they were, but he'd bet his life that they were German soldiers. He'd also bet that they weren't rushing to offer him a gift basket. More likely they bore the gift of a death sentence.

His sluggish mind tried to take all of these senses in as quickly as he could, but he was reeling with the weight of the situation. He was in dire straights, that he couldn't deny. There was no way he could run. He wasn't even sure that he could pry himself out from the plane's twisted wreckage, much less sprint away from ten armed German soldiers who were in much better shape than he.

No, he had only one option now.

That option rested under his seat.

His pistol.

One shot, saved especially for a day like this.

_I will not be taken alive._

He tried moving a finger first. It lifted off of the dash of the plane easily enough. Somewhat satisfied and very pressed for time, Francis eased one arm down by his side. He grunted in pain, but pressed the pain to the back of his mind as he reached under his seat for his pistol. His bloody fingertips brushed its smooth wooden handle, and with a grim smile, Francis grabbed ahold of his one hope of escape for dear life.

The Germans were getting closer by the second, nearly a stone's throw away now. He could hear their boots pounding against the ground.

There was no time to lose.

With a shaking finger, Francis pulled the hammer of the pistol back. He heard the round chamber.

The soldiers would be on top of him any second now.

Francis took one deep, yet shaky breath in through his nose.

He closed his eyes.

He raised the pistol.

Pressed the barrel against his temple.

Pulled the trigger.

_Click._

Francis' eyes tore open. Terror surged through his body. He pulled the trigger again and again, but his efforts were only met by an infuriating series of clicks.

_Click. Click. Click. Click._

There was no gunshot.

There was no bullet in his brain.

"No, no, no! No! No! No!"

He screamed so hard, his throat burned with the force of his voice.

Francis was not dead, but his only plan most certainly was.

Enraged, Francis pushed himself up from his leaning position on the dash of the plane and threw the useless weapon out of the open cockpit.

His way of escape may have been ripped out from under his feet, but that didn't mean that Francis wasn't going to go down without a fight. That fight was coming to him fast.

That fight was here.

Hands ripped him from where he sat in the wreckage and dragged his broken body across the grass. Francis screamed and cursed, and he tried to fight back, but what little he could do was met and squashed with boots to his body, face, and limbs.

_Come on Francis, you've got to fight. You're dead if you don't. Maybe you're dead if you do, so what's the difference?_

_Fight, Francis._

_Fight and live._

Fight he did, with everything that he had in his broken, battered, and bloodied body, but the weak punches he threw and the half hearted kicks just weren't enough. The soldiers pummeled him and dragged him into the back of one of the jeeps. His hands were bound. His eyes blindfolded.

They had him. They were going to take him away to be tortured for God only knows how long until he finally would meet his end.

Francis' meager hope dwindled away to nothing.

He was dead already.

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**I'm so excited, everything is really starting to pick up! I can't wait for you to read what else is in store. Thank you for sticking with this story for so long. You are honestly the best people ever. **

**Love always,**

**HarleyMarie**


	23. Ludwig: 22-23 July, 1944

**Hello all you lovely people!**

**My apologies for the super long delay for this update, I've been struggling with some serious health issues. But let me tell you, remission is great. Like really great. So I'm back!**

**But enough about me, you've done enough waiting. Get reading!**

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Ludwig didn't know how long he stayed curled up on the shower floor, with the icy water streaming through his hair and into his eyes. An hour, two, three, he didn't know and didn't care. When he finally tried to move to stand, his legs were stiff and his feet cold, and they wouldn't support his weight. He only crumbled to his hands and knees on the slick tile more exhausted than when he first started. All of the strength in his body had fled. His shoulders couldn't stop shaking, no matter how hard he tried to steady himself.

The world was spiraling out of his control. Everything was so wrong. In fact, it nearly felt as if it were not life at all. Not life, but a mere existence in time and space.

His body felt as if it were ripped in two. His heart, his very soul ached with this fresh and gaping wound.

The image of Gilbert's eyes was seared in the forefront of Ludwig's mind. Wide open. Glazed over. Dull. Lifeless. He couldn't free himself from the empty stare. Those eyes, always sparkling with both unbridled passion and an underlying gentleness, instead gazed out into empty space, seeing nothing, and yet strangely, seeing everything.

Ludwig promptly threw his body forward and vomited what little was left on his stomach up onto the slick tile. His body shuddered as he heaved and retched, sour bile dripping from his lips. Hot tears stung at his eyes and mingled with the cold water that ran down his face.

Ludwig was emptied of himself. He felt nothing, yet every emotion imaginable. He thought that his body would both explode, rip into shreds, and cave in all at once. He tried to ask himself how one man could hold so much inside of himself and survive, and he came to the conclusion that a man couldn't. It would kill him slowly and painfully and reduce him to an empty shell of flesh and bone. This feeling… It stripped a person of their humanity.

With every passing second, he felt himself die just a little bit more. His life was slipping through his fingers, and he was watching it fade away in complete misery.

He had lost his brother, his best friend, his rock, his right hand, his other half. Never had he felt so helpless in his life, never had he felt so alone.

But he hadn't just lost Gilbert. No, Monika was gone as well. Both lives snuffed out in an instant with the flash of a gun. And Miriam… She might as well be out of his reach as well. There was no way that he would be able to take her away from here safely, not after this.

If Germany won this war, then he could kiss her goodbye too. In fact, he had probably signed her death certificate the moment that he swept her and her sister off of their feet that bloody day in the village of Oradour-sur-Glane.

Had he thought that that split second decision would lead to all of this?

No.

Had he thought that he would fall in love with these two little girls and end up loving them more than he loved the woman that he thought that he was going to marry?

No.

Had he thought at all?

Absolutely not.

If he was honest with himself, Ludwig hadn't thought about his ex-fianceé at all since he received Eva's letter in the mail that informed him of her feelings for him, or lack thereof. He just simply had been focused on more pressing and important matters, nothing more. But wasn't this exactly what she had said? "Germany has taken the place in your heart that I thought was mine", those were her words, were they not?

Ludwig shook his head. He hadn't realized just how true her words rang until now. It wasn't fair for her, it wasn't fair for him, it wasn't fair for anyone. Nobody won like this.

But he had lost everything now. His fianceé was gone, his brother was dead, Monika was dead, Miriam was as good as dead.

It was all so wrong, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Ludwig bent his neck back so that his face was pelted by the stream of icy water from the showerhead. His eyelids were cool against his bloodshot eyes. His lips, which were slightly parted, let water drip onto his tongue, water that tasted like rust.

"God, why did it have to happen this way?"

The tiny whisper was drowned out by the water that rushed into his mouth and the murky gray light around him.

As like every other time he had beseeched the Creator, there was no answer, nothing outside of bathroom echoes, running water, and the sound of his own splintering heart.

Ludwig needed no further confirmation that he was, indeed, alone. If that was the case, then he really had nothing to lose now, did he? He had no more family, he had no friends, there was nobody. It didn't matter what happened to him now. No one was relying on him to come back in one piece or to even come back at all anymore. There was no one left to care.

_That settles it then, _he thought.

At eight o'clock in the morning, he would be standing before his superior's desk with a transfer request in his hand. His destination? Vercors Plateau. He had heard word that the fighting against the French Resistance had really picked up in that area in the last few weeks, and there he had a chance to do what he did best. Probably better now, actually.

Nothing to lose, after all.

-x-x-x-

The next morning at ten minutes until eight, Ludwig sat in the hall outside of his new superior's office on one of three wooden chairs that were set up along the wall just beside of the door. His uniform was spotless and pressed to perfection just as it always had been. His arms were crossed, his crystal blue eyes stared unflinchingly at a crack in the wall, and his knee jumped up and down with a rapid beat. Clutched between his fingers was his formal written request for a transfer of duty station. If anyone had seen him in the empty hallway, they would have assumed that the imposing German was nervous about this upcoming meeting. In reality he was eager with anticipation. Ludwig had no lingering doubts that his request for a transfer would be granted. He was asking to go into a fierce combat zone that no one in their right mind would volunteer for, and he had a stellar record to follow him, so he was confident that he would be received with open arms without problem or delay. The brass would understand him needing to leave. He was positive that the story of his Jew-loving Nazi brother had spread to the higher ups like wildfire, and they would understand him 'needing to escape the sphere of his traitorous brother's influence'.

The very sentence made Ludwig want to vomit.

_The sooner I get out of this city, the better, _he thought. _I can't stand to be here anymore. I see him around every corner, lying against the wall, his blood running into the street… I can't even go back to care for his body without giving myself away. He's just going to lay there in the gutter and rot and I can't do a thing about it… _

Ludwig shook his head to clear the image from his mind's eye, but just as always, it was no use. He sighed and rubbed the quickly welling tears out of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

_Playing the apathetic brother is impossible. The sooner I get away from these people, the better off I'll be. I just hope the subject of this meeting stays on my transfer request and doesn't wander to Gil. If it does, I'm not sure how well I can hold it together and keep playing this despicable part._

The door to Ludwig's left squealed open. He looked up and saw a young receptionist in the doorway, clipboard in her hand. She read from the paper in front of her, then looked up to greet Ludwig.

"SS-Sturmanbannführer Beilschmidt?"

Ludwig stood quickly to his feet and tucked his cap under his left arm. The girl smiled, then glanced down at the clipboard again.

"You're early."

Ludwig nodded, forced a smile, then replied, "Better ten minutes early than ten minutes late, I say."

The secretary nodded, scribbled something on the clipboard with a short pencil, then beckoned for him to follow her through the door. Once inside of her small office, she pointed to a large oaken door to her left. "Brigadeführer Lammerding will see you now."

Ludwig thanked her and strode across her office to the door. He rested a hand on the door's handle and paused to take a breath.

_You can do this, Lud. You've got to sell it. _

He turned the brass handle, pushed the door in with his shoulder, and stepped into the plushly furnished office space.

_Showtime._

Ludwig plastered on a stern look and stopped just inside of the doorway. He clicked his heels together and threw his right arm forward into the salute of the Party. "Heil Hitler," he barked, while trying to swallow the nausea that swept through his gut.

Brigadeführer Heinz Lammerding, a harsh and imposing-looking man in his early forties, waved off Ludwig's salute from where he sat deeply in his chair behind his large maple desk. Ludwig lowered his arm and placed it at the small of his back, waiting for permission to approach. He glanced down at how his superior's uniform cap had been placed gently in the front corner of his impeccably organized desk, and Ludwig instantly felt himself fall under a scrutinizing eye. The man had one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and his fingertips were pressed together in thought. His eyes roamed over Ludwig from top to bottom, inspecting every aspect of him. After a painfully long few seconds the man gestured for Ludwig to sit in one of the two chairs opposite himself that were facing the desk. Ludwig stepped forward and uneasily slid into the dark leather of the chair on the right.

Lammerding wasted no time with small talk. He reached into a drawer on his right and withdrew a file emblazoned with the national emblem, an eagle holding a swastika between its claws, and Ludwig's name along the top. He flipped the folder open and started to absentmindedly leaf through the many pages documenting Ludwig's life as far as the Party was concerned. "I heard that you were requesting to meet with me this morning, so I pulled your file and could hardly believe my eyes. Your service record is impeccable, your men have some of the highest morale on record, you've been awarded the Black Wound Badge, you're being considered for the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross for valor shown in battle, and you are one of the most dedicated officers I've ever seen. I must ask why you've requested this meeting, as I cannot think of a reason myself."

Ludwig cleared his throat and reached forward to hand Lammerding the paper in his hand. "I would like to request a transfer, sir."

Lammerding raised an eyebrow and took the paper, opened it, read, then frowned. "Vercors Plateau? Is there any particular reason why you're requesting a transfer specifically to here?"

Ludwig chewed on his lip for a moment before he answered. "To be honest sir, I need a… Change of scenery."

Lammerding furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, then widened his eyes a moment later when he understood. "Oh," he murmured. "That was your brother?"

Ludwig swallowed hard and nodded. "If you wouldn't mind sir, I'd appreciate it if we did not discuss the matter."

Lammerding nodded in agreement. "I understand. I wouldn't want to discuss such an undermining of Party principles by my own blood either. I couldn't imagine what you must be going through. Such a despicable betrayal." He redirected his attention to the file in front of him just quick enough for Ludwig's flinch to escape detection.

"I see no reason to deny your request," Lammerding sighed as he reached into another drawer of his desk and fished out a transfer form. He withdrew a fountain pen from its place on his desk and filled the form out quickly and stood to his feet to hand it to Ludwig before the ink had time to dry. "You leave Monday morning. Best of luck." Ludwig took the form in his hand, thanked Lammerding, and turned to leave. Lammerding's voice from behind stopped him, however.

"Heil Hitler," the officer said.

Ludwig stopped, clenched his jaw, turned to his superior, and replied with a smile.

"Heil Hitler."

He hoped that he would never have to say that name again.

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**Gosh it's good to be back. You know the drill, if you liked the update, then please leave a review. Or shoot me a PM, I love to talk. About anything, really. You like bagels? Great, me too! Let's talk about that. You struggling through something in your life and just need someone to talk to or just an ear to listen, or living with an illness like me? I'm always here and always ready to help. Seriously. I care about my readers, and if there's anything that I can do to help you out, then I will gladly do it.**

**I can't thank you all enough for your time and faithfulness to keeping up with my stories. You're the best!**

**Love as always,**

**HarleyMarie**


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